6 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord 


By 

F.  Frankfort  Moore 

Author  of  "  The  Jessamy  Bride,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

Cbe  "Knickerbocker  press 

1905 


COPYRIGHT,  1905 

BY 
F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE 


ftnicberbocber  press,  Hew  t?orh 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord 


PART  I 
CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  a  strange  night,  breathless  and  sound- 
less under  a  hot  iron  dome  of  innumerable 
stars.  Looking  at  these  stars  one  had  an  op- 
pressive sense  of  peering  through  tiny  holes  in 
the  iron  door  of  a  furnace  at  the  seething  flames 
within.  That  is  what  the  boy  on  the  horse 
thought  when  his  mad  gallop  had  ended  and  the 
animal  had  recovered  its  breath  and  drunk  at 
one  of  the  shrunken  pools  of  the  mill-stream. 
There  were  nights  on  which  he  had  looked  at  the 
stars  and  they  had  seemed  to  him  as  the  moth- 
holes  in  a  mighty  violet  velvet  pall  through 
which  the  gleam  of  the  golden  streets  of  the 
heaven  beyond  was  apparent  to  him;  and  there 
were  nights  when  he  had  seemed  to  see  the  quiver 
of  accursed  fires  through  the  piercings  of  the  pall. 
This  night  was  one  added  to  the  latter. 

It  was  like  a  wild  beast  crouching — breathless 


2  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

—silent — cruelly  cunning — waiting  to  leap  upon 
its  prey.  That  was  his  next  fancy;  no  boy  that 
ever  lived  in  the  world  had  so  many  imagin- 
ings— so  fantastic  an  imagination.  The  night 
was  a  wild  beast  with  a  glossy  black  skin  and 
he  was  its  prey ;  he  could  see  its  fiery  eyes  glar- 
ing at  him.  He  was  at  this  time  looking  at 
the  stars  from  beneath  the  canopy  of  foliage,  for 
where  the  alders  of  the  mill-pond  became  sparse 
an  avenue  of  poplars  straggled  on  to  the  knoll. 
Wherever  his  eyes  looked,  he  saw  the  red  fiery 
eyes  of  the  beast  glaring  at  him. 

While  he  sat  on  his  saddle  gazing  through  the 
poplar  boughs,  his  horse  nosing  the  leaves  on  the 
twigs,  he  felt  that  the  night  was  more  than  an 
ordinary  wild  beast:  it  was  The  Beast — the  Old 
Dragon  of  the  Apocalypse,  which  his  Scotch 
nurse  had  told  him  about  during  the  long  winter 
nights  at  Aberdeen,  sending  him  into  a  shivering 
sleep.  The  old  woman  was  too  good  a  Presby- 
terian to  have  a  doubt  respecting  the  material 
existence  of  the  Old  Dragon— she  had  talked  to 
a  man  who  had  actually  encountered  it,  only 
escaping  its  talons  by  the  recollection  of  a  timely 
text — and  her  convictions  had  become  fused  into 
the  phantasms  of  the  child's  imagination.  An 
unaccountable  wind  arose  beyond  the  poplars, 
setting  their  leaves  rustling  like  a  long  wave 
smashing  upon  a  shallow  beach  of  shells ;  it  came 
upon  the  boy's  face,  filtered  through  the  foliage 
and  yet  hot — hot  as  the  air  that  bursts  from  an 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  3 

oven  when  the  door  is  suddenly  opened — hot  and 
foul  as  the  breath  from  the  mouth  of  the  fiery 
dragon,  it  passed  hissing  its  way  down  the  long 
lines  of  straggling  trees  until  it  was  whispering 
among  the  dry  reeds  of  the  pond. 

The  boy  touched  his  horse  with  a  spur  and 
pushed  out  from  the  oppression  of  the  trees ;  but 
in  the  open  once  more  there  came  to  him  that 
sense  of  something  awful  watching  him.  For  a 
few  moments  he  felt  overcome ;  but  then,  wheel- 
ing his  horse  until  it  faced  the  uncouth  shapes  of 
the  trees,  he  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  raised  his 
whip  above  his  head,  shaking  it  threateningly— 
theatrically. 

"I  defy  you,  I  defy  you!"  he  cried  into  the 
night.  "I  defy  all  the  Powers.  Do  your  worst; 
I  shall  not  flinch.  I  am  a  man,  and  to  be  a  man 
is  to  be  a  master  of  the  world.  Do  your  worst, 
do  your  worst.  I  am  your  master." 

His  reading  had  been  of  the  man  of  gloom — 
the  sombre  personage  who  was  stalking  through 
romance  during  the  early  years  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  the  boy  on  the  horse  had  conceived 
a  great  admiration  for  this  hero.  His  own  every- 
day grievances  assumed  heroic  proportions  when 
contemplated  through  that  lens  of  magnificent 
distortion,  his  imagination.  That  was  why  he 
was  on  horseback  at  midnight  galloping  across 
the  broadlands  that  lay  between  Southwell  Village 
and  Newstead  Abbey,  in  the  county  of  Notting- 
ham. He  had  had  a  quarrel  with  his  mother,  and 


4  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

he  had  forsaken  her  roof  on  the  strength  of  it. 
And  now  he  was  defying  those  indefinite  Powers 
of  the  Air  who  somehow  seemed  to  be  taking  her 
part.  At  that  moment  his  fancy  was  dwelling 
so  deeply  on  the  gloomily  heroic  that  it  never 
struck  him  as  ridiculous  to  think  of  the  mysteri- 
ous Powers  of  the  Air  busying  themselves  in  a 
private  squabble.  He  had  read  Pope's  Homer, 
and  Homer  tends  to  make  men  and  boys  have  a 
pretty  fair  conceit  of  themselves.  When  Olym- 
pus was  in  a  blaze  because  a  shepherd  was  love- 
sick it  would  be  impossible  to  set  any  limits  to  the 
interest  taken  by  the  Powers  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

"  I  defy  you  all! "  he  cried ;  and  then  wheeling 
his  horse  once  more,  galloped  into  the  starlight 
darkness  of  this  warm  night,  and  did  not  slacken 
his  speed  until  he  had  been  borne  to  the  highest 
ridge,  if  it  might  be  called  a  ridge,  of  the  sloping 
lands.  A  windmill  was  on  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other  a  small  Norman  church  tower  was  faintly 
seen,  with  a  white  stone  here  and  there  among 
the  many  grey  stones  of  the  churchyard.  The 
tinkle  of  a  sheep's  bell  trickled  through  the 
silence  from  a  far-off  pasturage. 

The  horse  was  blown,  and  stood  with  lowered, 
outstretched  neck,  panting  hard.  The  boy  patted 
its  burning  withers,  saying : 

"Good  Sultaun!  Ah,  if  all  friends  were  but  as 
true  as  thou!" 

He  had  a  feeling  of  having  got  the  better  of  the 
oppressive  Powers  that  had  been  leagued  against 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  5 

him.  He  began  to  peer  into  the  darkness  for 
some  landmark  that  he  knew;  he  had  forsaken 
the  road  at  his  first  wild  gallop ;  his  pause  among 
the  poplars  had  lost  him  his  bearings,  and  his 
second  hard  ride  had  carried  him  into  miles  of 
mystery.  He  did  not  know  the  windmill,  and  he 
had  no  notion  in  what  direction  the  narrow  road 
beside  the  old  church  led.  Even  if  he  had  known 
so  much  he  would  not  have  known  enough  to  be  of 
any  service  to  him.  He  had  no  acquaintance  with 
the  localities  so  far  removed  from  the  high  road. 

With  the  feeling,  which  tended  to  humiliation, 
that  he  was  lost,  came  the  resolution: 

"I  will  not  return.  Whatever  may  happen  to 
me  I  shall  never  return!" 

He  spoke  out  his  firm  resolve  into  the  .still 
night,  and  he  had  no  thought  that  he  might  find  it 
as  difficult  to  go  on  to  his  destination.  After  all, 
one's  destination  is  whither  one's  destiny  leads. 

From  the  elevated  land  on  which  he  was  stand- 
ing his  horse,  there  was  a  splendid  panorama  of 
darkness  round  which  his  eyes  might  range. 
Darkness  lay  upon  the  world  as  a  garment,  with 
here  and  there  the  faint  sparkle  of  a  light  in  some 
homestead  or  some  hamlet.  Thinking  of  the 
darkness  as  a  cloak,  this  imaginative  boy  thought 
of  the  sparkle  as  coming  from  one  of  its  silver 
buttons.  The  cloak  that  lay  upon  the  earth  was 
far  less  bespangled  than  the  garment  of  the 
heaven;  but  now  the  stars  were  shining  more 
faintly  than  they  had  shone  when  he  had  thought 


6  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

of  them  as  dragons'  eyes.  The  gems  in  the  belt 
of  Orion  were  topaz,  and  the  Pleiades  were  as  pale 
as  pearls.  Castor  and  Pollux  were  lustreless  as 
paste,  only  the  planet  Venus  palpitated  very  low 
in  the  sky.  Jupiter  had  climbed  to  the  Lady  in 
the  Chair,  and  every  now  and  then  a  feather  of 
cloud  brushed  across  his  steadfast  face,  hiding 
it  for  a  moment.  The  boy  noticed  this,  but  he 
was  unable  to  trace  the  floating  of  the  feather 
across  any  of  the  star-clusters  that  made  the 
embroidery  of  the  Chair. 

"Which  is  my  star?"  he  said.  "Was  I  born 
under  the  influence  of  Jupiter  or  Venus — Jupiter, 
the  master  of  the  leven-bolt,  or  Venus,  wedded 
to  the  lame  god — lame  like  me — a  god,  though 
lame?  Where  is  the  planet  Vulcan?  Surely  that 
is  my  star — a  crippled  god — the  patron  of  the 
halt,  and  wedded  to  Venus — a  conception  to 
make  gods  and  men  roar  with  laughter — ay,  but 
Homeric  laughter,  not  the  vulgar  chuckle  of  the 
herd." 

There  was  something  thorny  in  his  own  laughter 
at  that  moment,  but  it  broke  off  with  a  sudden 
exclamation.  Before  his  eyes  in  the  Constella- 
tion of  Leo  three  large  meteors  swept  through  the 
sky,  leaving  behind  them  trains  like  those  of  a 
rocket,  which  gave  them  the  aspect  of  comets  in 
motion.  They  fled  in  different  courses  and,  un- 
like any  shooting  stars  that  he  had  ever  seen,  they 
were  not  evanescent;  they  buried  themselves 
beneath  the  horizon,  and  their  phosphorescent 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  7 

trains,  each  shaped  like  a  folded  fan,  faded  away 
gradually. 

Before  he  had  recovered  from  his  astonishment, 
the  celestial  wonder  had  increased  ten-fold — a 
thousand-fold.  From  every  quarter  of  the  sky 
came  .meteors ;  some,  in  flying  along  through  the 
stars,  were  as  wisps  of  the  marsh,  vanishing  in  a 
breath;  others  rosy  as  a  ruby  and  of  a  greater 
splendour  than  the  Evening  Star,  melting  into 
the  distance,  but  leaving  a  brilliant  streak  to 
mark  their  pathway.  The  heavens  were  alive 
with  light — moving,  quivering,  shooting,  glanc- 
ing, gleaming,  living  sparks.  They  crossed  each 
other's  courses ;  some  seemed  to  meet  each  other 
in  mid-air;  some  to  slip  along,  diverging  from 
one  point  like  shoals  of  phosphorescent  fry  which 
one  sees  in  the  purple  depths  of  a  tropical  gulf. 
About  the  seven  stars  of  the  Pleiades  hundreds 
flashed  and  looked  like  fireflies  floating  about  a 
cluster  of  grapes  so  transparent  that  the  moon 
could  be  seen  shining  through  them.  Thousands 
of  these  starry  marvels  were  of  the  vapoury 
sheen  of  glow-worms,  but  many  were  crimson  and 
enormous,  blazing  like  red-hot  shells  shot  from  a 
mortar,  illuminating  the  whole  heaven  for  several 
moments  before  they  burst  into  innumerable 
fragments— fiery  chips — with  a  crash,  followed 
by  a  crackling. 

The  boy  on  the  horse  was  overcome  by  the 
wonder  of  a  phenomenon  which  he  believed  had 
never  occurred  in  the  history  of  the  heaven  and 


8  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  earth.     Once  again  his  memory  went  back  to 
the  awfulness  of  the  Vision  seen  at  Patmos  by  the 
Divine.     He  heard  the  hard  voice  of  his  old  nurse 
reading  of  the  terrors  of  the  Last  Judgment. 
"And  the  stars  of  heaven  fell  to  the  earth." 
Surely  this  was  the  night  that  St.  John  had 
foretold!    The  stars  were  falling,  and  the  heavens 
would  soon  roll  together  as  a  scroll,  the  elements 
would  melt  with  fervent  heat,   and  then — the 
Last  Trump. 

He  felt  himself  trembling  in  anticipation  of  the 
dread  sound,  but  somehow  he  was  not  conscious 
of  the  terror  which  had  come  to  him  when  he  had 
heard  the  old  Scotchwoman  intoning  the  Vision. 
He  sat  breathless  on  his  horse,  waiting  for  the 
scene  of  which  this  star-flight  was  the  prelude, 
but  he  did  not  pray.  He  felt  that  nothing  could 
move  him  to  prayer  at  that  moment.  He  knew 
that  all  the  people  in  the  world  who  were  watching 
these  stars  fall  from  heaven  were  praying  for 
mercy.  That  thought  was  of  itself  sufficient  to 
prevent  him  from  praying.  But  he  waited,  and 
before  long  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle  absorbed 
all  his  attention,  shutting  out  every  apprehension 
.as  to  what  the  next  hour  would  bring  forth.  So 
he  had  more  than  once  watched  a  thunderstorm, 
losing  every  sense  of  its  danger  in  contemplating 
its  grandeur.  He  had  felt  himself  to  be  a  portion 
of  the  tempest,  and  now  he  began  to  think  of  him- 
self in  connection  with  this  miracle  which  was 
being  enacted  before  his  eyes. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  9 

He  had  felt,  when  he  set  out  on  this  wild 
gallop  in  the  early  part  of  the  night,  that  he  was 
making  his  first  real  move  into  the  world  of  action 
—the  world  in  which  he  was  determined  to  play 
an  heroic  part — a  striking  part.  In  his  mind  the 
two  were  the  same.  Napoleon  was  his  hero 
The  name  of  Napoleon  filled  all  the  world  just 
then.  There  was  no  man  in  the  world  who  was 
not  a  pigmy  compared  with  Napoleon.  He  had 
heard  of  the  portents  in  nature  with  which  the 
obscure  Corsican  had  been  ushered  into  the 
world,  and  now  the  world  was  being  suffocated 
with  his  name.  What  if  this  miracle  of  meteors 
had  come  to  mark  his  own  entrance  into  the 
world. 

The  heart  of  the  boy,  that  was  beating  very 
fast,  beat  still  faster,  and  swelled  at  the  thought. 
He  felt  more  passionately  than  ever  those  aspira- 
tions which  had  caused  him  at  times  to  sit 
gloomily  apart  from  his  schoolmates  at  Harrow. 

"A  meteor — a  meteor — I  am  one  of  them — I 
am  one  of  ye!  "  he  cried.  "A  miracle  of  meteors! 
By  Heaven!  I  would  rather  have  the  glorious 
moment  of  a  meteor  than  live  the  changeless  life 
of  a  fixed  star.  That  is  my  destiny — to  flame 
across  the  heavens  with  all  the  eyes  of  the  world 
upon  me,  not  to  remain  a  star  for  a  sailor  to  steer 
by.  My  destiny  is  to  be  a  portent,  not  a  guide 
to  man." 

He  had  almost  shouted  out  his  words  into  the 
night,  and  he  had  scarcely  ceased  when  the  whole 


io  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

heaven  was  illuminated.  What  seemed  a  ball  of 
fire  almost  as  large  as  a  full  moon  rushed  across 
the  sky,  leaving  a  molten  track  behind  it  as 
broad  as  the  bands  of  a  rainbow,  and  plunged 
into  the  darkness  of  the  west,  making  it  blaze 
like  a  furnace.  It  was  the  largest  of  the  meteors 
of  that  marvellous  night;  and  it  had  the  shriek 
of  a  bomb-shell. 

The  horse  sprang  with  its  four  legs  into  the  air 
at  the  first  blaze  of  the  light,  and  when,  a  few 
seconds  later,  the  awful  sound  ran  across  the  sky, 
it  reared  with  a  snort  of  terror,  and  then  made  a 
wild  dash  for — anywhere. 

It  went  down  the  sloping  ground  and  through 
a  low  straggling  hedge  into  a  field  that  contained 
the  stubble  of  the  wheat  harvest.  A  shallow 
stream — the  same  that  was  dammed  for  the  old 
mill  three  miles  away — opened  itself  abroad 
where  there  was  a  dip  in  the  land.  The  horse 
went  through  the  marsh  in  a  single  splash.  On 
across  the  level  it  sped,  and,  with  a  crash  of 
splintering  timber,  through  a  padlocked  gate  and 
into  the  midst  of  a  flock  of  sheep,  that  fled  to 
right  and  left  with  heart-breaking  bleats.  The 
rider  was  but  dimly  aware  of  the  creamy  backs 
rolling  into  the  distance  like  white  breaking 
waves  on  the  ridge  of  an  unseen  reef.  The  sound 
of  the  bleating  was  already  faint  behind  him,  and 
still  the  horse  was  flying  venire  b  terre.  It  seemed 
to  crouch  before  every  mad  stride  that  it  made. 
He  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  a  belt  of  trees  which 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  1 1 

made  the  grey  line  zigzagging  across  the  meadow 
beyond  the  sheep  pasture.  That  was  his  first 
thought  of  danger.  He  made  a  feeble  attempt 
to  pull  the  beast  round  to  where  a  gap  was 
faintly  apparent.  He  might  as  well  have  tugged 
at  the  trunk  of  an  oak.  The  horse  was  going 
straight  for  the  trees,  as  if  it  had  been  struck 
blind. 

Down  to  the  animal's  neck  he  bent  his  head — 
it  was  his  only  chance.  As  the  horse  went  straight 
at  the  belt  he  felt  boughs  scraping  along  his  back, 
each  leg  was  struck  by  a  broken  branch,  and  in 
his  ears  there  was  a  rattling  sound  of  crackling 
twigs,  while  a  bunch  of  foliage  swept  across  his 
face. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  second.  The  horse  had 
passed  through  the  obstruction  and  was  shooting 
across  the  meadow.  The  rider  managed  to  retain 
his  seat.  He  saw  on  each  side  the  great,  shape- 
less bulk  of  sleeping  cattle.  Only  one  or  two 
were  on  their  feet.  He  went  by  them  in  a  flash. 
The  turf  had  a  spring  in  it  that  seemed  to  put 
fresh  life  into  the  beast,  for  this  wild  gallop — its 
third  within  a  few  hours — was  the  swiftest  of  the 
night.  It  stimulated  the  ever  active  imagination 
of  the  boy,  and  he  thought  of  himself  as  in  a 
boat  flying  from  crest  to  crest  of  the  waves.  He 
might  have  thought  of  a  wreck,  for  the  horse  was 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  a  gate  far  too  high  to 
leap  over  and  far  too  strong  to  be  broken  down 
without  breaking  down  its  assailant.  Beyond 


12  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

it  there  seemed  to  be  a  wall  surmounted  by  a 
black  billow  of  foliage. 

Straight  for  the  gate  the  animal  went.  The 
rider  tugged  at  the  reins,  throwing  himself  back 
in  the  saddle.  And  at  that  moment  he  felt  that 
the  Last  Day  was  indeed  following  hard  on  the 
miracle  of  the  falling  stars — his  own  Last  Day- 
he  had  been  a  fool  to  expect  the  sound  of  the 
angel's  trumpet  first — there  it  was  before  him — 
the  gate  to  Eternity! 

Straight  for  it!  His  horse  made  no  attempt 
at  a  leap.  It  gathered  itself  together  for  a 
charge  and  rushed  at  the  obstacle.  There  was  a 
crash — a  shivering  of  wood — a  whirl.  The  rider 
felt  himself  swung  high  into  the  air,  then  sinking 
down  deep  into  a  sombre  sea  whose  waves  stung 
every  limb  with  the  sting  of  thorns,  and  then  he 
ceased  sinking  and  swung  and  swung,  gasping 
for  breath  and  striking  out  strongly  with  his 
arms  among  hard  waves  that  bound  his  arms 
as  with  whipcord;  he  swung  and  swung  until 
there  came  a  sudden  crackling  of  timber  and  he 
found  his  feet  on  solid  earth,  and  the  broken 
bough  of  a  tree  in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  took  him  some  time  to  realise  what  had 
happened — by  what  agency  he  had  been 
saved  from  death.  He  could  not  understand 
how  he  came  to  be  standing  under  a  tree  with  a 
high  wall  beside  him.  After  the  excitement  of 
that  whirlwind  race  the  sudden  change  into  rest 
and  silence  was  like  passing  from  the  fierce 
struggle  with  Death  into  oblivion.  He  was  con- 
scious of  aching  limbs,  of  a  body  torn  by  twigs 
and  pommelled  by  boughs.  And  there  was  that 
high  wall  beside  him  shutting  him  off  from  every- 
thing. His  lame  foot  was  paining  him.  He  seated 
himself  on  the  spreading  roots  of  the  tree,  from 
which  the  sinking  of  the  wall  had  drawn  the  earth, 
leaving  them  exposed,  and,  collecting  his  scattered 
senses,  was  able  in  some  moments  to  account  for 
his  position. 

He  remembered  that  hurricane  rush  at  the 
gate — he  had  seen  for  a  second  the  narrow  strip  of 
roadway  and  the  wall  with  the  curve  of  autumnal 
foliage  spreading  over  its  ivy;  but  still — then  it 
came  upon  him  with  a  flash ;  he  had  been  thrown 
over  the  horse's  head  across  the  roadway  and 
into  the  boughs  of  the  tree  actually  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  wall. 

13 


14  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  He  could 
trace  his  descent  through  the  obstructive  boughs 
that  had  saved  his  neck  by  yielding  gently  to  his 
weight,  breaking  his  descent,  but  being  them- 
selves broken  by  the  effort. 

Curiously  enough,  his  first  thought  was :  What 
would  his  mother  think  if  he  had  been  killed  and 
his  mangled  body  brought  to  her  in  the  morning? 
He  had  parted  from  her  in  anger.  He  was  not  so 
overwhelmed  with  joy  at  the  reflection  that  he 
was  alive  and  only  indifferently  mangled  as  to 
be  incapable  of  thinking  that  it  was  rather  a  pity 
he  had  not  been  killed,  if  only  to  teach  his  mother 
a  lesson.  Her  temper  was  unendurable. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  portent  of  the  meteoric 
shower.  Was  this  all  that  it  meant?  Was  that 
miracle  of  falling,  blazing  worlds  (he  assumed  that 
they  were  stars,  and  he  had  learned  that  stars 
were  worlds)  brought  about  solely  to  portend  his 
accident?  He  laughed  at  the  notion,  and  pulled 
aside  an  obscuring  branch  from  above  his  head, 
so  that  he  might  see  if  the  stars  were  still  falling ; 
but  he  was  unable  to  get  a  fair  view  of  the  sky. 

Lastly  the  thought  came  to  him — and  it  was  a 
humiliating  one — that  the  enterprise  on  which  he 
had  set  his  heart  must  be  abandoned.  He  had 
had  certain  very  heroic  designs,  but  how  could 
he  now  hope  to  realise  them?  On  horseback  he 
might  have  passed  as  one  of  the  gloomy,  cloaked 
heroes  who  were  frowning  their  way  through 
romances  in  prose  and  verse  at  the  period,  but  on 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  15 

foot — where  were  the  elements  of  the  heroic  in 
the  spectacle  of  a  lame  boy  bareheaded — he  had 
lost  his  cap  long  before  his  final  catastrophe — 
and  wearing  a  tattered  jacket? 

He  felt  greatly  discouraged  at  the  cutting  short 
of  his  enterprise.  The  smallest  of  all  the  stars 
that  he  had  seen  falling  was  typical  of  his  dis- 
aster; it  did  not  call  for  so  imposing  a  display 
as  he  had  witnessed.  He  felt  utterly  helpless. 
Without  his  horse  he  could  not  even  return  to  his 
mother's  house  to  ask  her  forgiveness  and  to  sub- 
mit once  more  to  the  terrors  of  her  tongue. 

He  pulled  himself  up  among  the  branches  of  the 
tree  that  had  played  so  friendly  a  part  in  regard 
to  him  a  short  time  before,  and  soon  reached  the 
top  of  the  wall.  From  this  point  of  vantage  he 
was  able  to  see  how  great  was  the  distance  that 
he  had  been  thrown.  The  road  between  the  gate 
and  the  tree  was  more  than  ten  feet  broad,  and 
the  wall  was  certainly  eight  feet  high.  He  had 
read  of  the  catapults  of  the  Romans  which  sent 
men  whirling  through  the  air.  He  felt  that  he 
could  write  a  chapter  on  the  sensations  of  one 
of  the  victims  of  this  implement. 

The  gate  beneath  him  had  two  of  its  highest 
bars  smashed,  and  across  the  lowest  lay  the  body 
of  the  horse.  It  was  a  sickly  sight  to  be  seen  even 
beneath  the  pale  light  of  the  stars — the  immov- 
able stars ;  and  for  a  time  the  boy,  looking  down 
on  it,  was  overcome.  He  fancied  that  he  was 
more  concerned  about  the  death  of  his  horse  than 


1 6  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

he  was  about  his  own  escape  from  destruction. 
He  looked  about  for  a  way  of  descent,  but  found 
none.  The  wall  was  too  high  to  allow  of  his 
reaching  the  ground  by  a  drop,  and  the  night 
was  too  dark  to  let  him  see  any  crevices  for 
his  foot  between  the  stones.  He  crept  along 
the  top  for  some  distance,  hoping  to  discover 
some  palpable  breaking  away  of  the  mortar:  he 
wondered  what  the  poachers  did.  Surely  they 
were  neglectful.  He  wearied  himself  to  no  pur- 
pose. Even  the  ivy,  from  which  he  had  great 
hopes,  had  its  roots  on  the  inner  side  of  the  wall 
He  was  forced  to  descend  by  the  branches  of  the 
tree  in  which  he  had  lodged  when  thrown  over 
his  horse's  head,  and  doing  so,  found  himself  in 
what  seemed  to  be  a  spacious  park.  From  his 
post  on  the  wall  he  had  seen  rising  above  the  dark 
clouds  of  foliage  in  the  distance  what  he  thought 
might  be  the  arch  of  a  gable.  If  he  was  right, 
that  was  probably  part  of  the  mansion  which  the 
park  encircled,  and  the  carriage  drive  would  be 
easily  found  if  he  only  managed  to  reach  the 
building.  He  discovered  a  woodman's  track  and, 
following  it  for  some  way,  came  upon  a  gravel 
walk  which  in  turn  brought  him  to  a  broad 
avenue.  He  was  approaching  it  from  the  rear, 
and  walking  with  difficulty.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  had  passed  before  he  was  abreast  of  the 
stable  buildings  and  the  high  walls  of  an  orchard. 
A  few  more  minutes  were  sufficient  to  reveal  the 
mansion  itself,  but  the  moment  he  went  round 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  17 

the  curve  of  the  avenue  and  the  great  gable  arose 
before  his  eyes,  he  gave  a  cry  of  astonishment, 
and  clapped  his  hands  boyishly  with  a  laugh. 

"Who  would  have  thought  it?"  he  cried. 
"Who  would  have  thought  it?" 

The  dead  blackness  of  the  night  gave  to  the 
place  the  aspect  of  an  etching.  It  was  as  still  as 
stone.  Houses,  trees,  garden — all  as  silent  as  if 
hewn  out  of  a  quarry  of  black  marble.  There 
were  cypresses  on  the  cleared  land  space;  they 
spread  out  long  arms  draped  in  black  velvet, 
without  the  least  motion.  There  was  a  long, 
high  wall  of  yew,  clipped  in  fantastic  shapes  of 
peacocks,  and  bears,  and  monsters.  They  looked 
like  a  row  of  stone  sculptures.  A  stone  pediment 
at  one  end  of  a  low  terrace  in  front  of  the  house 
was  surmounted  by  the  figure  of  a  bear  supporting 
a  quartered  shield.  The  boy  limped  to  the  figure 
and  leaned  against  it,  looking  along  the  front  of 
the  ancient  priory. 

"My  destiny  again,"  he  said.  "It  was  my 
destiny  to  be  pitched  headlong  into  my  own 
estate — to  find  my  own  doors  closed  in  my  face. 
I  meant  to  ride  up  to  the  gates  and  to  enter  with 
the  dignity  of  the  rightful  master,  and  yet  here  I 
am!" 

He  did  not  need  a  light  or  a  looking-glass  to 
tell  him  what  was  his  appearance  at  that  moment. 
His  hair,  luxuriant  in  its  curls,  was  tossed;  his 
face  was  scratched,  and  his  clothes  were  soiled 
and  torn.  The  figure  which  he  cut  was  very 


1 8  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

different  from  that  which  he  had  designed  for 
himself.  He  felt  humiliated.  Not  for  many 
minutes,  however,  for  the  desire  to  assert  him- 
self, which  all  through  his  life  was  strongest  when 
he  had  received  his  heaviest  rebuff,  came  upon 
him  with  irresistible  force.  He  flung  himself 
away  from  the  stone  ornament,  crossed  the  terrace 
walk  to  the  great  hall  door,  and  gave  the  swinging 
iron  chain  of  the  bell  a  mighty  pull. 

Beyond  a  doubt  he  felt  a  huge  desire  to  turn 
and  fly  for  a  place  of  hiding  when  he  heard  the 
clang  of  the  bell  within,  but  he  stood  his  ground, 
and,  after  the  lapse  of  an  unreasonably  short  time, 
sent  the  bell  jangling  more  wildly  than  before. 

He  had  no  need  to  do  it  a  third  time.  He 
heard  the  sound  of  a  shutter  being  released  and  a 
window  opened  above  his  head.  He  looked  up 
and  saw  first  the  huge  bell-mouth  of  a  blunder- 
buss covering  him,  and  then  the  head  of  a  man 
projected  cautiously  beyond  the  level  of  the  sill. 

The  blunderbuss  seemed  to  discharge  a  grape- 
charge  of  oaths,  after  which  the  inquiry  as  to 
what  was  the  business  of  the  caller  at  such  an 
hour  sounded  tame  as  the  sound  of  a  pop-gun. 
The  voice  was  that  of  a  man. 

"Come  down  and  open  the  door  without  a 
moment's  delay.  It  is  Lord  Byron  who  com- 
mands you,"  cried  the  boy  firmly. 

Equally  firm  was  the  reply  that  came  from  the 
voice  at  the  window. 

"  I  '11  give  you  till  I  count  ten  to  get  out  of 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  19 

range,  my  gentleman,"  it  said.  "I  '11  stir  your 
stumps  for  you,  whether  you  be  Lord  Byron  or 
Lord  Harry  or  Lord  Knows  Who.  Off." 

"Insolent  scoundrel!"  cried  the  boy.  "I  dis- 
charge you  from  my  service  from  this  moment." 

"And  I  '11  discharge  my  blunderbuss  in  my 
master's  service  when  I  count  ten,"  said  the  man 
in  the  nightcap.  He  had  put  out  his  head  far 
enough  to  let  young  Byron  see  that  he  was  wear- 
ing a  nightcap,  one  of  the  pattern  that  made  men 
look  like  idiots — a  bobbing  tassel,  and  so  forth. 
The  boy  remembered  to  have  seen  such  a  night- 
cap on  the  head  of  a  man  with  such  a  bell -mouthed 
blunderbuss  in  a  caricature ;  but  he  did  not  laugh 
at  the  recollection.  On  the  contrary,  he  became 
angrier  than  he  had  been  before.  The  indignity 
of  being  refused  an  entry  to  his  own  house  was 
surely  all  the  greater  when  it  came  through  so 
absurd  an  agent. 

"  You  are  a  fool,"  he  shouted  up  to  the  window. 

"One — two — three — four — five—  "  intoned  the 
voice  above  his  head. 

The  boy  took  a  step  or  two  back.  The  sweep 
of  the  carriage  drive  was  edged  with  small  white 
flints,  which  marked  its  course  on  the  darkest 
night.  Before  the  man  with  the  nightcap  had 
come  to  "seven"  Byron  had  kicked  one  of  these 
pebbles  out  of  its  foundation,  and  the  sound  of 
the  intoned  eight  was  lost  in  the  sound  of  crashing 
glass,  a  wild  oath,  and  a  tremendous  explosion. 

In  another  moment  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  dogs 


20  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

in  the  county  had  their  tongues  loosed.  From 
within  the  house — every  room  might  have  held  a 
dog — from  the  buildings  behind,  from  houses  that 
seemed  to  be  close  at  hand,  from  farms  in  the 
distance,  came  the  barking  of  dogs — "mongrel, 
puppy,  whelp,  and  hound  and  curs  of  low  de- 
gree"— the  air  was  being  worried;  the  night 
became  hideous  with  the  tongues  of  dogs. 

The  nightcap  had  left  the  window.  It  might 
have  been  knocked  off  by  the  explosion  of  the 
bell-mouth;  for  that  matter,  the  head  that  it 
surmounted  might  have  been  blown  into  the 
room.  The  boy  below  failed  for  some  minutes  to 
hear  the  oaths  that  came  through  the  broken 
casement,  so  continuous  was  the  clamour  of  the 
dogs.  But  soon  his  mind  was  set  at  rest  in  re- 
gard to  the  man.  He  was  alive. 

A  light  appeared  at  another  window.  It  re- 
vealed female  drapery — a  flutter  of  white,  a 
woollen  shawl  scrambled  over  the  shoulders  of 
a  nightdress,  an  elderly  woman's  face  framed  in 
frills. 

The  barking  became  less  furious.  The  boy  could 
hear  the  man  ramming  down  the  lead  into  the 
gaping  gun  with  oaths  for  wadding,  also  a  shrill 
question  or  two  yelled  from  the  room  with  the 
candle.  Another  wave  of  barking  and  yelping 
and  baying  and  howling  dashed  against  the  echo- 
ing walls  of  the  old  mansion.  Young  Lord  Byron 
stooped  to  dislodge  another  of  the  white  pebbles- 
he  had  hurt  his  foot  kicking  out  the  first — and 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  21 

when  he  straightened  himself  he  found  a  man 
facing  him. 

He  started  back,  nearly  overbalancing  himself 
on  that  paved  border  of  the  carriage  sweep.  The 
man  helped  him  to  keep  his  feet,  and  then  kept  a 
light  hand  on  his  wrist. 

"Who  are  you?  And  what  do  you  do  here  at 
this  hour?"  asked  the  man,  in  no  rude  tone. 

"  I  am  Lord  Byron.  I  suppose  that  I  may  come 
to  my  home,  Newstead  Abbey,  when  I  please 
without  being  answerable  to  any  servant,"  re- 
plied the  boy.  "Take  your  hand  off  my  wrist, 
sir." 

The  man  obeyed,  after  a  moment's  pause  and 
a  queer  laugh. 

"Oh,  you  are  my  Lord  Byron,  are  you?"  he 
said.  "  I  suppose  that  in  a  coal-black  night  the 
son  of  a  hind  would  pass  for  the  son  of  a  lord,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  grand-nephew  of  one;  but 
there  are  certain  signs.  This  night  is  not  so  dark 
but  that  one  with  eyes — one  close  to  you,  mind, 
not  up  at  a  window  with  a  brass  gun-barrel 
dazzling  his  eyes — can  see  a  youth  with  a  head 
like  a  maid's  mop  in  its  second  year,  bare  of  hat 
or  cap,  mind,  and  a  jacket  that  points  to  a  burg- 
lary in  the  demesne  of  a  scarecrow,  and 

"  Who  are  you,  pray,  that  comments  with  such 
freedom?"  said  the  boy,  feeling  very  ill  at  ease, 
through  a  consciousness  of  his  condition.  He 
was  even  more  sensitive  than  a  boy  on  such  a 
point. 


22  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"I  suppose  that  our  relations  at  this  moment 
give  me  a  certain  privilege  of  comment — the  com- 
ment of  inquiry,"  said  the  man.  "You  are  the 
subject  of  inquiry.  Are  you  a  lord?  Then  why 
come  in  the  disguise  of  a — let  us  say,  a  common 
boy?  A  disguise  is  always  suspicious,  is  it  not? 
And  a  peer  does  not  always  bear  a  coronetted 
face,  though  sometimes  the  rascalities  of  one's 
ancestors  are  faithfully  transmitted." 

"Suspect  as  you  please,  I  tell  you  that  I  am 
Lord  Byron,  and  it  is  my  pleasure  to  sleep  within 
Newstead  to-night." 

"  How  do  you  propose  convincing  the  man  with 
the  blunderbuss  that  you  are  Lord  Byron?  A 
man  with  a  blunderbuss  and  no  brains  to  prevent 
him  from  using  it  is  like  a  mongrel  coachman  on 
the  hammercloth — the  master  of  a  thoroughbred 
between  the  shafts.  The  head  of  my  Lord  Byron 
can't  resist  the  argument  of  a  handful  of  leaden 
slugs  any  better  than  the  head  of  a  hind.  A 
brace  of  slugs  will  turn  the  liveliest  intellect  to  a 
numskull." 

The  boy  was  puzzled,  failing  to  catch  the  exact 
drift  of  the  man's  phrases.  But  before  he  had 
time  to  betray  his  condition  there  was  the  sound 
of  bolts  being  withdrawn  and  chains  slipped. 
The  hall  door  was  opened  and  the  thin  light  of  a 
lantern  showed  the  stout  figure  of  a  man  in  the 
framework  of  the  doorway  pushing  well  in  front 
of  him  the  yawning  gun.  Over  his  left  shoulder 
appeared  a  woman's  face  in  its  frame  of  frills. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  23 

The  man  laid  down  the  lantern  on  the  step  and 
^aised  his  weapon. 

"Hold  hard,  Dickon,"  said  the  man  outside. 
"  Hold  hard.  I  have  my  hand  on  the  trespasser." 

Still  the  other  kept  the  blunderbuss  to  his 
shoulder. 

"  Sure — are  ye  sure  of  him,  Mr.  Vince?  If  not, 
I  can  riddle  him  from  here;  I  can  make  a  sieve 
of  him.  You  stand  to  one  side — twenty  yards 
or  so;  the  slugs  scatter,"  said  he. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  for  this  young  lord's 
sake,  and  my  sake  too,  man,  lower  that  gaping, 
toothless  mouth  of  her.  I  don't  want  her  to  spit 
slugs  in  my  face,"  said  the  one  outside.  "  'T  is  not 
a  master  trespasser,  only  an  apprentice — a  boy." 

"A  boy — a  boy.  Let  me  get  hands  on  him," 
cried  the  man  at  the  door,  stooping  for  his  lantern. 
But  his  bravery  was  obstructed  by  a  clutching 
hand  from  behind.  A  figure  in  a  petticoat  and 
shawl,  frills  and  a  broad  bow  of  muslin  under  the 
chin,  became  shakily  luminous. 

"  You  '11  not  stir,  Mr.  Dickon ;  you  have  n't  a 
son  of  your  own,"  cried  the  woman. 

"Keep  back,  woman,  is  this  a  time  for  polite 
reproaches?"  said  the  man,  straining  at  his  gar- 
ment— a  stout,  middle-aged  Joseph  resisting  a 
Potiphar's  wife  with  grey  wispy  side  curls  bubbling 
among  the  frills  of  her  cap. 

"  We  '11  have  no  hasty  bloodshed  if  I  can  help 
it,"  said  the  woman.  "  Bring  the  boy  hither,  Mr. 
Vince.  You  can  manage  him  single-handed 


24  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

without  the  aid  of  this  bloodthirsty  monster.  Laur' 
o'  mercy!  you  must  have  had  a  terrible  struggle. 
The  lad  's  lamed  and  his  garments  are  a  sight! 
Help  him  nigh.  I  hope  't  is  dark  enough  for  my 
modesty,  Mr.  Vince.  A  nightcap  is  honourable." 

"It  never  was  worn  by  Venus,  or  any  of  her 
hussies,  Mrs.  Harwell,"  said  the  man  whom  she 
had  called  Mr.  Vince.  "  Here  's  the  trespasser, 
only  don't  give  me  credit  for  his  struggles ;  they 
took  place  in  his  attempt  to  capture  the  outer  fort 
of  the  citadel,  I  don't  doubt.  He  has  his  story." 

"No  fears!  he  '11  have  a  new  chapter  with  a 
coal-hole  in  it  before  morn,"  said  the  lantern-man, 
putting  out  a  large  hand  and  grabbing  the  boy 
by  the  shoulder. 

The  boy  swung  a  good  blow  with  his  fist  on  the 
man's  arm,  with  an  indignant: 

" How  dare  you,  sirrah?" 

The  man  carried  off  a  handful  of  broadcloth, 
for  it  was  just  the  shoulders  of  the  jacket  that  had 
suffered  most  in  the  ride  through  the  trailing, 
scraping  branches. 

Mr.  Vince  laughed  to  see  the  man  clap  his  other 
hand  to  his  arm  with  a  quick  oath,  followed  by : 

"The  young  adder!  An  unprovoked  assault! 
You  are  a  witness,  Mr.  Vince." 

"The  lad  has  spirit.     Who  is  he.  anyways?" 

"  He  is  my  Lord  Byron,  the  owner  of  Newstead 
Estate.  A  genial  home-coming  for  his  lordship! 
The  welcome  of  barking  bull-dogs  and  the  huzza 
of  a  blunderbuss." 


CHAPTER  III 

» 

WHAT  nonsense  is  this,  Mr.  Vince?"  said 
the  woman. 

The  man  had  ceased  to  rub  his  arm.  Both  his 
arms  had  fallen  to  his  sides  in  a  clumsy  caricature 
of  the  "attention"  attitude  of  the  barrack-yard. 
His  mouth  had  become  like  that  of  his  own 
weapon,  now  gaping  up  at  him  from  where  he 
had  placed  it  at  the  door- jamb. 

"  What  is  this  jest  of  your  making,  Mr.  Vince?" 
she  repeated,  eyeing  the  boy. 

"No  jest,  i'  faith!"  said  Mr.  Vince.  "What, 
are  you  in  doubt?  You  must  be  hard  to  con- 
vince. Here  you  have  a  lad  in  a  tattered  jacket 
and  a  face  that 's  black  where  it 's  not  bleeding, 
coming  without  notice  to  Newstead  Abbey  an 
hour  after  midnight,  throwing  a  stone  up  to  a 
window,  and  then  expecting  that  people  freshly 
awaked  will  take  his  word  that  he  's  Lord  Byron 
come  to  take  up  residence  at  his  own  place.  Is 
there  any  one  in  the  world  who  would  act  in  such 
a  way  except  the  son  of  Mad  Jack  Byron  and  the 
grand-nephew  of  the  late  much-lamented  peer 
who  made  Newstead  the  pivot  on  which  his 
antics  revolved  for  years  ?  Of  course  this  is  Lord 
Byron." 

25 


26  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"Bless  us!"  cried  the  woman.  "Where  's  his 
ma?" 

"I  will  overlook  my  treatment  to-night,"  said 
the  boy  with  a  grand  air,  and  in  a  voice  that 
suggested  dignified  clemency.  "I  will  assume 
that  your  fault  was  due  to  an  excess  of  zeal.  Get 
me  a  bottle  of  wine  and  something  to  eat.  I  pre- 
fer champagne,  if  it  is  first-rate ;  failing  that,  old 
port.  Light  the  sconces  in  the  dining-hall  and 
arouse  a  lackey  or  two  to  attend.  You,  sir,"  he 
turned  to  Mr.  Vince,  "will,  I  hope,  do  me  the 
honour  to  sup  with  me." 

Mr.  Vince  bowed  to  the  very  ground  with  his 
right  hand  upon  his  heart.  The  young  man 
thought  him  excessively  polite,  and  so  he  was — 
excessively.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  expression 
on  his  face. 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  your  lordship  is  too  vastly  gen- 
erous," said  he  when  his  body  was  bent  to  its 
perigee.  "  I  am  your  lordship's  most  obedient 
servant  to  command.  The  night  is  warm  for  this 
time  of  the  year,  my  lord,  as  your  lordship 
may— 

"Stop  there!"  cried  the  man  who  had  been 
spoken  to  as  Dickon.  "  Stop  there,  if  you  please. 
I  know  naught  of  any  Lord  Byron.  I  have  no 
order  to  give  admittance  to  anyone  of  that  name, 
whether  he  be  the  owner  of  Newstead  or  not. 
This  is  Newstead,  but  as  you  know,  Mr.  Vince,  it 
has  been  let  for  the  past  year  to  my  Lord  Grey 
de  Ruthen.  I  'm  his  butler  and  nobody  else's. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  27 

What  do  you  say,  Mrs.  Barwell?  Mrs.  Barwell 
is  my  lord's  housekeeper,  and  we  have  been  left 
in  charge,  as  you  know,  Mr.  Vince,  against  his 
lordship's  home-coming  from  the  North  in  an- 
other month.  I  can  never  quite  make  you  out, 
Mr.  Vince,  and  that  's  a  fact ;  but  if  this  is  a  jest 
of  yours,  all  I  can  say  is  that  't  is  a  sorry  one." 

He  gave  a  searching  glance  at  the  young  Lord 
Byron,  beginning  at  his  head,  his  lordship's 
strong  point,  and  finishing  at  his  feet,  his  lord- 
ship's weak  point.  The  intimacy  of  his  scrutiny 
seemed  to  embolden  him,  for  he  straightened 
himself,  put  his  arms  akimbo,  and  said  firmly: 

"No,  I'm  ashamed  of  nothing,  and  I'll  be 
hanged  if  anybody,  Lord  or  Common,  enters  the 
mansion  that  I  'm  charged  with  the  care  of,  and 
the  more  he  tries  to  lord  it,  the  surer  I  am  that  I  am 
in  the  right.  That 's  all  there  is  to  be  said  by  me, 
unless  Mrs.  Barwell  has  thought  of  saying  a  word." 

He  nodded  sideways  in  the  direction  of  the 
housekeeper,  but  without  looking  at  her.  Mr. 
Vince  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  not  without  a 
smile. 

"Poor  lad — poor  lad!  he  is  very  wild!  There 
is  a  story  behind  him,"  said  she.  This  was 
friendly,  and  not  compromising. 

"  Look  you  here,  young  man — I  mean,  my 

well,  I  '11  go  as  far  as  '  sir ' — that  covers  all.  Look 
you  here,  young  sir,  if  you  are  all  that  you  say  you 
are,  how  is  it  that  you  did  n't  ask  for  my  lord — 
Lord  Grey  de  Ruthen?  Answer  me  that;  but 


28  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

don't  expect  that  I  '11  let  you  by  me  upon  your 
reply,  mind  that." 

"You  are  not  bound  to  plead  without  condi- 
tions, my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Vince. 

"It  was  kept  from  me.  I  never  heard  that 
Newstead  was  let  to  a  stranger,"  said  Lord  By- 
ron. "  I  suppose  they  took  it  for  granted  that  I 
never  would  allow  such  a  thing  to  happen.  Of 
course,  I  could  not  think  of  entering  now.  I  find 
the  door  of  my  ancestors  shut  in  my  face.  I 
shall  not  soon  recover  from  this  blow ;  but  it  has 
been  experienced  by  others  before  me." 

"True,  my  lord.  There  have  been  many  in- 
stances of  such-like  jugglery  of  Fate,"  said  Mr. 
Vince.  "They  say  that  the  prior  of  this  very 
Newstead  was  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Sepulchre, 
when  our  bluff,  English  blackguard  Bluebeard 
turned  out  the  monks,  and  he  heard  nothing  of 
what  had  happened  until  he  landed  in  the  Hum- 
ber  and  rode  up  to  the  door  of  his  priory — it  was 
at  the  other  side  of  the  gable  wall,  I  believe — 
only  to  find  it  barred  and  with  the  king's  seal 
upon  it.  The  poor  old  churchman  with  his 
scallop  shell  wandered  about  the  park  all  through 
that  winter's  night  and  was  found  dead  in  the 
morning,  probably  where  we  are  standing  at  this 
moment." 

The  boy's  eyes  were  alight. 

"I  never  heard  the  tale  before,  sir,"  said  By- 
ron. "It  is  a  touching  one.  Is  it  possible  that 
it  has  never  been  told  by  a  poet?  It  would  com- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  29 

mend  itself  to  Mr.  Walter  Scott,  of  Edinburgh. 
I  have  just  read  his  Minstrelsy  of  the  Border.  He 
gives  more  than  one  ballad  of  the  palmer  with  his 
scallop  shell." 

The  boy  had  listened  with  increasing  interest 
while  the  man  told  the  story,  and  now  he  was 
standing  with  his  back  turned  to  the  stout  care- 
taker and  the  befrilled  housekeeper.  He  had 
forgotten  their  existence,  he  had  forgotten  his 
own  exclusion  from  the  house  which  he  had 
meant  to  enter  with  dignity.  The  gates  of  an- 
other and  a  more  precious  demesne  had  been 
opened  in  front  of  him,  and  he  had  already  taken 
a  step  across  the  boundary.  He  could  feel  the 
ambrosial  airs  of  those  broad,  unknown  regions; 
he  was  already  dimly  aware  of  the  awaking  music 
of  their  woods — the  minstrelsy  of  their  waters. 

Mr.  Vince  looked  at  him  in  silence,  and  then 
laughed.  The  boy  drew  himself  up  with  a  start, 
back  into  the  region  of  the  commonplace. 

"  What!  "  cried  Mr.  Vince,  "  is  it  possible  that  a 
Byron  is  susceptible  to  sentiment,  to  something 
besides  the  wasting  of  substance  in  riotous  living, 
followed  by  the  inevitable  husks  which  the  swine 
do  eat?  Go  away,  boy,  you  are  an  impostor,  no 
true  Byron." 

"  I  said  he  was  an  impostor  from  the  first,  com- 
ing hither  at  midnight !  Where  is  his  cap  ?  Look 
at  his  coat.  A  young  rascal  scamp!"  said  the 
caretaker,  advancing  with  a  menace.  Not  too 
provocative  a  one — his  arm  still  had  an  ache. 


30  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Vince  put  up  a  staying  hand. 

"Go  to  your  bed,  my  good  friend  Dickon," 
he  said.  "  The  ghost  of  the  dispossessed  Prior  of 
Newstead  will  not  haunt  your  slumbers,  be  as- 
sured of  that.  This  is  indeed  young  Lord  Byron, 
and  he  will  send  you  a  guinea  in  the  morning  for 
having  disturbed  your  serenity,  the  serenity  of 
the  unimaginative,  the  placidity  of  emptiness  as 
to  the  head  and  of  repletion  as  to  the  stomach. 
My  lord  will  be  the  first  to  acknowledge  your  zeal 
as  the  defender  of  his  home  against  himself.  If 
the  Byrons  had  ever  found  some  to  defend  them 
against  themselves  the  house  would  to-day  stand 
on  a  firmer  foundation.  My  Lord  Byron,"  he 
turned  to  the  boy ;  "  you  will  not  enter  Newstead 
at  this  time.  If  you  have  no  plans  of  your  own, 
it  may  be  that  you  will  honour  my  humble  cottage 
by  accepting  its  shelter  till  morning.  It  will  not 
overtax  your  lordship  to  walk  thither,  't  is  hard 
by  the  entrance  gates.  Believe  me,  my  lord,  to 
obtain  the  shelter  of  a  friendly  cottage  is  not  a 
wholly  unsatisfactory  case  even  for  such  as  set  out 
with  high  hopes  of  occupying  a  mansion.  A  roof  is 
a  roof,  and  four  square  feet  of  roof  is  a  shelter  for 
any  man;  a  royal  duke  can  need  no  ampler." 

He  bowed  to  Lord  Byron,  and  this  time  with 
no  affectation  of  the  elaborate,  which  before  had 
suggested  a  scheme  of  mockery  to  the  sensitive 
youth  against  whom  it  had  been  directed. 

The  butler-caretaker  picked  up  his  lantern,  lis- 
tening, with  half -turned  head,  while  he  stooped, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  31 

for  the  doubtful  young  lord's  answer  to  the  man's 
courtesy — Mr.  Dickon  never  felt  otherwise  than 
a  ringing  in  his  head,  after  Mr.  Vince  had  been 
speaking;  but  he  had  a  vague  impression  of  the 
meaning,  that  showed  itself  here  and  there  among 
the  cross-work  of  phrases,  as  a  hen's  egg  reveals 
itself  laid  in  the  hay  of  a  manger. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Vince,"  said  the  man  with  the 
lantern. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Vince  and — and — my  lord," 
said  the  woman,  with  a  gasping  tremolo. 

"Good-night  to  you  both,"  said  Mr.  Vince. 
"Caretaker,  you  have  taken  care.  Housekeeper, 
you  have  kept  the  house.  His  lordship's  guinea 
to  each  of  you." 

"H'm!"  breathed  the  man  nasally.  The  wo- 
man gave  her  shawl  a  twitch.  They  were  too  com- 
fortably placed  to  thaw  appreciably  beneath  the 
warmth  of  a  poor  man's  promise  that  a  minor 
whom  they  had  shut  out  from  his  house  would 
send  them  a  guinea. 

The  bolts  and  chains  rattled  in  the  hall,  and 
then  came  the  flat  slap  of  slippered  feet  crossing 
the  bare  floor. 

Byron  laughed,  and  the  man  beside  him  fol- 
lowed at  his  leisure. 

"  They  have  their  doubts  about  me.  I  cannot 
blame  them.  But  how  is  it  that  you  have  none, 
Mr. — I  believe  they  called  you  Mr.  Vince?"  said 
the  boy. 


32  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"I  believe  I  gave  you  my  reasons,"  he  replied. 
He  spoke  naturally  now,  with  no  "my  lord  "-ing. 
"Only  a  Byron  would  appear  in  such  a  guise  at 
such  an  hour  with  such  an  object." 

"  The  guise  of  a  guy,  I  admit,  and  the  ob- 
ject  " 

"Ha,  that  's  it,  What  was  your  object?  I 
understood  that  you  were  at  Harrow-on-the-Hill 
— a  student  perhaps,  a  fighter  certainly.  Ha, 
'crede  Byron,'  that  is  the  motto  of  your  race 
and  some  have  taken  it  in  earnest  and  suffered  for 
their  error.  This  is  the  way  to  the  lodge.  I  am 
one  of  the  living  errors  which  resulted  from  taking 
the  motto  in  earnest.  Shall  we  move?  This  is 
the  way  to  the  lodge.  Do  not  disdain  a  shoulder 
to  lean  upon." 

"  I  have  gone  through  a  good  deal  since  night- 
fall, and  even  if  I  were  not  lame,  I  should  have 
good  reason  to  be  tired.  I  believe,  if  they  had 
not  seen  that  I  was  lame,  that  man  and  the  woman 
there  would  have  treated  me  with  more  respect; 
but  a  peer  with  a  foot  like  mine  looks  as  foolish  as 
a  foreigner  to  such  people.  They  think  that  a 
peer  must  be  perfect." 

"They  do,  in  spite  of  all  the  plainest  evidence 
in  opposition.  I  would  not  say  that  you  were  a 
cripple,  Lord  Byron." 

"But  I  am  one.  When  people  are  with  me 
for  any  time  they  forget  it.  What  was  your  first 
thought  when  you  saw  that  I  was  limping?  Tell 
me  that,  Mr.  Vince." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  33 

"Nemesis,  I  thought  of  Nemesis.  Of  course, 
Dr.  Drury  taught  you  all  about  Nemesis?" 

"  By  book  and  birch.  Indeed,  Mr.  Vince,  he 
made  Nemesis  seem  a  very  living  power  when  we 
had  been  guilty  of  something  flagrant.  But  you 
say  thai  you  looked  on  me  as  the  Nemesis  of  the 
House  of  Byron.  Well,  do  you  think  that  I  am 
that  now,  Mr.  Vince?" 

"  His  late  lordship,  of  blessed  memory,  was  of 
that  opinion." 

"Ah,  I  have  heard  that  my  grand-uncle  had 
good  reason  to  think  that  every  foot  that  halted 
in  his  neighbourhood  meant  the  approach  of 
Nemesis!  Heavens,  sir,  did  he  think  so  little  of 
his  crime  as  to  suppose  that  a  child  would  be 
sufficient  to  do  the  work  of  a  faithful  Nemesis  in 
his  case?" 

"He  hated  your  father  and  your  father's 
father,  and  yet  he  lived  to  know  that  their  off- 
spring was  the  heir.  That  was  how  he  felt  that 
you  were  a  sort  of  Nemesis.  I  have  heard  him 
curse  you  roundly  and  soundly  for  an  interloper." 

He  ceased.  Byron  made  no  comment,  but 
leaned  heavily  upon  his  friendly  shoulder,  and, 
after  some  jerky  movements,  withdrew  his  hand 
and  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief, 
breathing  hard. 

"  You  cannot  be  overcome  by  reason  of  what  I 
have  told  you,"  said  Mr.  Vince. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Byron.  "  I  only  paused  in  order 
to  hear  the  sound  of  ghostly,  mocking  laughter. 


34  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Have  ghosts  any  sense  of  humour,  do  you  think? " 

"I  daresay — humour  of  a  sort." 

"Then  the  spirit  of  my  grand-uncle  must  be 
convulsed  having  witnessed  the  reception  of  his 
heir  when  he  made  an  attempt  to  enter  into  pos- 
session of  the  hall  which  he  vacated.  It  must 
surely  have  been  his  merry  malevolence  that  led 
me  to  Newstead  to-night.  How  he  must  have 
chuckled  when  I  was  greeted  with  the  salvo  from 
the  blunderbuss ! " 

"If  he  had  any  hand  in  the  business  he  would 
have  made  the  man  aim  straight." 

"  Oh,  no ;  that  would  have  shown  a  disposition 
to  be  merciful.  A  handful  of  slugs  in  the  brain 
early  in  life — is  there  anything  better  for  a 
Byron?" 

"It  is  now  that  you  should  hear  the  ghostly 
laughter.  The  inheritor  of  Newstead  speaks  in 
the  vein  of  Diogenes  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  ancient  walls." 

"  Within  a  blunderbuss'  shot,  you  mean." 

"  Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure ;  it  was  the  priory  window 
that  was  within  a  stone's  throw  of  you.  You 
smashed  one  pane,  did  you  not  ? ' ' 

"And  you  saved  me  from  smashing  another. 
Was  your  sudden  appearance  at  that  spot  as  re- 
markable as  mine,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Vince  ?  Are 
you  accustomed  to  roam  these  grounds  at  mid- 
night? Have  you  the  privilege?  Perhaps  you 
are  the  steward.  Everybody  seems  to  know 
more  about  Newstead  than  Lord  Byron.  To 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  35 

think  that  there  was  no  one  to  tell  me  that  the 
place  had  been  let!  Are  you  the  steward?" 

"  Do  you  suggest  that  I  should  render  to  you 
an  account  of  my  stewardship,  my  lord?  My 
shoulder  is  at  your  service  once  more.  That  is 
how  they  travelled  in  the  old  days — my  lord  with 
his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  steward." 

The  boy  was  extremely  glad  of  the  friendly 
support,  and  so  they  resumed  their  walk. 

"You  can  tell  me  some  matters  that  others 
conceal,  about  my  property,"  said  the  boy. 

"I  can  tell  you  everything;  but  I  am  not  the 
steward,"  said  the  man. 

"  Pray  inform  me  who  you  are?  "  cried  Byron. 

"  I  am  the  son  of  my  mother,  but  not  of  my 
father." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"  It  means  that  my  father  was  Lord  Byron,  and 
that  I  bear  my  mother's  name,  not  his." 

"  I  daresay  that  you  bear  the  more  honourable 
name,"  said  Byron,  after  a  long  silence. 

"Oh,  fie,  my  lord!  Think  of  your  ancestors, 
think  of  your  own  father.  Why,  there  is  hardly 
one  of  the  race  that  did  not  attain  to  such  dis- 
tinction as  is  only  granted  to  princes — the  dis- 
tinction of  a  picturesque  adjective.  It  was  not 
Byron  the  Good,  or  Byron  the  Great ;  it  was  not 
il  magnified,  as  in  the  case  of  Lorenzo,  nor  '  the 
Silent,'  as  with  a  certain  William.  No,  my  lord, 
your  father  was  Byron  the  Mad,  and  your  great- 
uncle  was  Byron  the  Bad.  So  the  voice  of  the 


36  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

people  confers  a  voice  without  a  baptism;  it  is 
linked  with  distinction  forever." 

"Linked  with  distinction,  do  you  call  it?  I 
call  it  handcuffed  to  distinction." 

"It  could  not  be  more  aptly  described.  It 
marks  the  arrest  of  the  felon,  and  this  is  the  end 
of  our  journey." 

They  had  reached  the  entrance  to  a  cottage 
which  stood  at  some  distance  from  the  carriage 
drive,  almost  hidden  among  its  trees. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BYRON  expressed  his  surprise.  Who  could 
tell  that  a  cottage  existed  in  this  place? 
Was  it  a  kind  of  Rosamond's  Bower? 

"One  would  fancy  so,  did  not  one  know  that 
the  builder  was  never  known  to  make  the  attempt 
to  conceal  any  of  his  wickednesses,"  said  Vince. 
"Ostentation  in  evil  amounted  to  a  foible  with 
him.  He  dreamed  of  the  glory  of  the  title  the 
'Bad  Byron.'  He  must  have  died  happy  in 
the  knowledge  that  his  claim  was  universally 
recognised." 

"  Was  there  no  dissentient  voice  from  the  popu- 
lar verdict?"  asked  Byron.  "Who  lived  here 
long  ago?" 

"  There  was  one  dissentient,"  said  Vince,  slowly. 
"  She  lived  in  this  cottage.  She  was  my  mother. 
But  that  is  a  woman's  life — to  love  and  to  forgive. 
My  poor  mother  did  both  to  excess." 

He  struck  a  light  and  applied  it  to  a  candle  on 
the  table  of  the  room  into  which  Byron,  following 
him,  had  groped  his  way.  It  was  a  small  apart- 
ment, but  it  held  some  rare  bits  of  furniture,  and 
the  walls  were  covered  with  tapestry  pictures. 
The  table  was  laid  as  if  for  supper,  with  every 
evidence  of  refinement.  There  were  a  white 

37 


38  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

chicken,  a  green  salad,  an  abundance  of  fruit,  and 
a  bottle  of  white  wine. 

"There  is  enough  for  two,"  said  the  host,  sur- 
veying the  table.  Byron  was  doing  the  same; 
and  then  he  gave  a  turn  that  caused  him  to  face 
the  candle.  The  boy  started,  and  was  at  the 
point  of  crying  out,  for  it  might  have  been  his 
own  father  who  was  standing  there,  so  close  was 
the  likeness  between  the  man  and  the  picture  of 
the  boy's  father  which  had  hung  over  the  mantel- 
piece of  his  mother's  lodgings.  It  had  been 
painted  when  they  were  in  France,  and,  although 
Byron  professed  to  have  a  recollection  of  his 
father,  it  was  chiefly  from  the  picture  that  he 
knew  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  And  that 
picture  was  now  animate  before  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Vince  saw  the  start  that  he  gave,  and 
smiled. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  told  at  home  and 
abroad  that  I  bore  a  remarkable  resemblance  to 
the  man  who  was  called  'Mad  Jack'  by  his  as- 
sociates. The  likeness  brought  me  nothing  but 
trouble,  not  only  that  trouble  which  takes  the  form 
of  figures  on  a  sheet  of  paper  with  a  tot,  but  also 
that  which  takes  the  form  of  an  enraged  husband 
or  a  hasty  brother.  Never  mind,  I  would  rather 
be  taken  for  Mad  Jack  than  for  a  good  man.  Fix 
your  attention  to  the  table,  Lord  Byron;  your 
father  never  failed  in  his  duty  to  himself  in  that 
respect,  whatever  his  shortcomings  in  other  di- 
rections may  have  been." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  39 

Byron  was  conscious  of  a  little  sting  now  and 
again  when  he  heard  his  father  referred  to  with 
the  slights  of  one  to  whom  mockery  seemed  to 
come  easily.  But  he  was  hungry.  He  looked  at 
the  table. 

"  You  could  not  have  expected  a  visitor,  at  such 
an  hour,"  he  said.  "But  there  is  certainly 
enough  for  two,  even  when  one  of  the  two  has 
such  a  hunger  as  mine." 

"It  is  true  that  I  did  not  expect  a  visitor," 
said  Vince.  "  Though  I  admit  that  I  might  have 
looked  for  a  distinguished  visitor  considering  the 
portent  of  the  stars.  You  saw  that  extraordinary 
thing  to-night.  I  went  up  to  the  highest  ground 
to  watch  the  display,  neglecting  my  supper.  It 
was  on  my  return  through  the  grounds  that  I 
caught  a  faint  glimpse  of  you.  Thank  Heaven 
that  I  was  able  to  bring  about  a  cessation  of  hos- 
tilities before  greater  damage  was  done.  And 
now  in  the  name  of  reason  will  you  tell  me  what 
impulses  led  you  to  attempt  to  take  Newstead  by 
storm  to-night?" 

Byron  was  eating  of  the  meat  and  drinking  of 
the  wine  before  him.  In  the  satisfaction  which 
he  was  beginning  to  feel,  he  was  losing  something 
of  the  sense  of  humiliation  which  had  been  with 
him,  when  he  had  found  Newstead  closed  against 
him.  After  his  second  tumbler  of  wine,  he  could 
even  think  of  the  matter  in  the  light  of  a  diverting 
escapade. 

"I  suppose  that  I  am  something  of  a  fool,"  he 


40  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

said.  "  I  wonder,  as  you  have  heard  so  much  of 
our  family  and  its  history,  if  you  know  anything 
of  my  mother." 

"Nothing  save  that  she  had  a  fortune  and  a 
temper.  Your  father  dissipated  the  former  and 
fled  from  the  latter.  Has  she  found  that  you  are 
his  heir-at-law  ? ' ' 

Byron  did  not  at  once  appreciate  the  drift  of 
the  question.  When  he  did  so,  he  reddened. 

"  I  am  answered,"  said  Vince.  "  If  you  had  in- 
herited her  temper  you  would  have  run  a  knife 
into  me  for  my  insolence." 

"I  am  not  hurt,"  said  Byron.  "You  told  me 
what  my  father  had  done.  It  was  his  example 
that  I  was  following  to-night." 

"  In  the  running  away  ? " 

"  In  the  running  away.  She  provoked  me  be- 
yond endurance.  It  would  seem  as  if  she  took  a 
pleasure  in  doing  so." 

"Not  a  pleasure — a  duty.  A  Scotch  mother 
assumes  the  role  of  Providence.  She  visits  the 
sins  of  the  father  upon  the  children.  She  is  pay- 
ing back  her  Mad  Jack  through  you.  And  so  you 
ran  away?" 

"  Not  on  my  own  two  legs  as  you  can  suppose. 
I  meant  to  ride  up  to  the  door  of  Newstead  and 
assert  my  right  to  enter.  My  design  was  frus- 
trated by  my  horse.  I  had  been  watching  that 
marvellous  display  of  meteors.  You  saw  the 
large  one?" 

"And  heard  it,  too." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  41 

"So  did  my  horse.  I  had  run  away  from  my 
mother,  and  now  my  horse  ran  away  with  me. 
He  tore  through  a  belt  of  trees.  It  was  their 
boughs  that  left  me  in  tatters.  We  must  have 
gone  over  miles  at  that  rush.  It  was  only  brought 
to  an  end  by  the  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  last 
field.  I  was  sent  flying  over  his  head  and  into  the 
boughs  of  a  tree  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall. 
That,  you  will  say,  was  a  true  Byron  episode." 

"To  become  the  meteor  of  a  moment,  yes. 
To  escape  death  by  a  hair's  breadth,  yes." 

"  To  make  a  headlong  entrance  upon  a  heritage 
and  to  find  that,  after  all,  another  man  was  in 
possession,  that,  I  think,  is  not  out  of  keeping 
with  the  family  traditions." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  and  I  know  more  of  the 
family  traditions  than  you,  my  Lord  Byron. 
The  Byrons  never  could  do  anything  like  other 
people.  They  were  always  original,  and  to  be 
original  is  to  be  hated.  It  was  the  lucky  ones 
of  the  name  who  were  hated.  The  others  were 
loved.  I  have  been  wondering  what  your  fate 
will  be.  Will  you  find  the  love  that  women  will 
fling  at  you  a  blessing  or  a  curse?  Will  the 
women  come  to  find  a  curse  in  your  acceptance 
of  their  love?  Is  this  the  way  to  talk  to  a  boy? 
But  I  am  not  talking  to  a  boy.  Your  father  was 
a  full-fledged  libertine  when  he  was  a  year  older 
than  you  are  to-day,  and  he  had  destroyed  the 
happiness  of  more  than  one  home  before  he  was 
twenty.  He  had  run  away  with  another  man's 


42  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

wife  before  he  ceased  to  be  legally  an  infant,  and 
he  had  dissipated  most  of  his  fortune  within  two 
years.  Do  you  want  to  know  something  of  the 
Berkeley s  of  Stratton,  from  whom  you  are  de- 
scended? You  will  find  it  epitomised  in  the  life 
of  your  grand-uncle.  He  did  not,  however,  run 
away  with  another  man's  wife.  It  was  his  own 
wife  who  saved  her  life  by  running  away  from 
him.  What  turn  will  the  family  frenzy  take  in 
your  case,  my  lord?  That  is  a  question  which  I 
may  live  to  see  answered.  Will  you  be  Byron  the 
Bad  or  Byron  the  Mad?  Will  you  strike  out 
some  original  course  of  wickedness  for  yourself 
or  be  content  to  go  to  perdition  on  the  old  well- 
trodden  track  laid  down  by  your  ancestors?  I 
suppose  they  found  it  cheaper  in  the  long  run  to 
make  a  straight  road  to  perdition  for  family  use. 
They  must  have  begun  it  early,  for  the  more  re- 
cent members  of  the  family  travelled  on  it  with 
delightful  smoothness  and  rapidity,  whether  they 
went  down  to  Avernus  in  the  family  chariot  or, 
like  commoners,  on  foot.  However  you  may 
travel,  my  lord,  take  my  advice  and  don't  let  our 
patron  Beelzebub  know  that  a  Byron  with  a  graft 
of  the  Gordon  frenzy  is  at  hand,  or  you  will  find 
yourself  bombarded  by  a  heavier  blunderbuss 
than  was  used  against  you  to-night.  He  will  have 
some  compassion  on  the  souls  in  his  charge." 

Byron  had  sprung  from  his  chair.  His  face  had 
become  whiter  as  the  man  proceeded  with  his 
speech.  When  it  came  to  an  end  the  boy  found 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  43 

himself  with  his  fingers  straining  round  the  handle 
of  a  knife.  He  looked  at  the  blade,  and  then 
flung  the  knife  into  a  corner  of  the  room.  He 
pointed  a  quivering  finger  at  the  man  who  had 
been  speaking,  but  he  could  not  himself  speak  for 
some  time,  so  strongly  moved  was  he.  Then  he 
cried,  still  pointing  his  finger  at  the  man : 

"You  are  he — you  are  he — you  are  the  devil 
himself  to  speak  to  me  as  you  have  spoken.  You 
are  part  of  this  night  of  weirdness  and  wonder.  It 
was  all  read  to  me  years  ago — the  stars  that  fell 
from  heaven — portents  of  the  spirit  that  mocks 
and  lures  to  destruction.  You  appeared  by  my 
side  out  of  the  blackness  and  you  took  the  sem- 
blance of  my  father  in  this  room." 

"That  proves  it — the  semblance  of  an  angel  of 
light,"  cried  the  man  throwing  himself  back  in  his 
chair  with  roars  of  laughter. 

"  I  have  eaten  and  drunk  with  you,  but  that 
does  not  bind  me  to  you,"  continued  the  boy  when 
he  had  recovered  from  the  interruption.  "Bind 
me  to  you,  if  you  have  the  power.  Try  your 
spells  upon  me  if  you  are  all  powerful.  I  defy 
you." 

The  man  was  clearly  amused.  He  lay  back 
smiling  curiously,  interestedly. 

"  It  is  a  page  from  one  of  our  modern  stories  of 
gloom,"  he  said.  "The  proud  hero  defies  the 
mysterious  stranger.  But  the  defiant  youth  pays 
his  humble  servant  too  high  a  compliment,  and  in 
doing  so  treats  Lucifer  somewhat  scurvily.  What ! 


44  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

to  suggest  that  the  Prince  of  Darkness  would  put 
himself  to  the  trouble  of  coming  for  a  Byron  and 
of  failing  to  know  that  Byron  would  go  to  him  as 
fast  as  his  legs  and  his  appetites  would  carry  him ! 
Fie,  my  lord !  Lucifer  is  no  fool,  whatever  he  may 
be.  You  traduce  the  patron  of  our  house." 

He  was  still  leaning  back  in  his  chair  smiling 
while  he  fingered  the  stem  of  a  wine-glass.  Sud- 
denly he  straightened  himself ;  he  leaned  forward, 
and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  boy's  face  his  smile 
vanished. 

"Lord  Byron,"  he  said,  in  a  measured  way, 
"whatever  people  may  say  of  you  in  the  days  to 
come,  when  you  have  your  liberty,  you  will  always 
have  my  sympathy,  for  I  know  that  your  destiny 
is  not  in  your  own  hands.  Just  as  a  man's  body 
inherits  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  his 
parents,  so  does  his  nature.  He  can  no  more 
change  the  nature  that  has  been  transmitted  to 
him  than  one  can  gather  figs  from  thistles,  grapes 
from  thorns.  The  Byrons  are  thistles  and  the 
Berkeleys  are  thorns,  and  they  will  never  be 
otherwise.  The  fools  of  the  world  lift  up  their 
hands  in  blame  of  both.  That  is  their  folly.  Does 
any  moral  blame  attach  to  a  thorn  bush  in  that 
it  does  not  produce  grapes,  or  to  the  thistle— 
perhaps  in  your  case  the  Scotch  Gordons  are 
symbolised  by  the  thistle?" 

Crash  went  the  table,  with  the  glass  and  china 
that  it  bore.  Byron  had  put  both  his  hands  down 
to  it  and  overthrown  it  in  the  direction  of  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  45 

man,  who  was  leaning  an  elbow  on  the  cloth  while 
lifting  a  lecturing  finger  at  the  boy.  Crash  went 
the  table,  and  crash  went  his  chair  behind  him, 
as  he  turned  round  in  a  fury  and  went  to  the  door, 
amid  the  roars  of  laughter  of  the  man.  He 
turned  for  a  moment  and  looked  back.  The  man 
was  lying  in  his  chair  holding  up  a  wine-glass  that 
he  had  saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  table. 

"I  was  wrong!  I  was  wrong!"  he  cried.  "I 
find  that  it  is  possible  to  save  a  unit  from  the  de- 
struction of  a  whole  brittle  family.  Take  cour- 
age, Byron!  Take  courage !" 

But  Byron  had  shut  the  door  with  a  bang,  and 
was  already  outside  the  cottage,  and  making  his 
way  by  the  light  of  an  exquisite  dawn  to  the 
path  which  glimmered  among  the  trees.  He  still 
heard  faintly  the  laughter  of  the  man  whom  he 
had  left  in  the  room.  Before  he  had  gone  far,  he 
looked  back.  He  failed  to  see  the  cottage.  It 
had  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  it  had  been 
drawn  by  a  pencil  of  mist  upon  the  slate-dark 
background  of  trees. 

He  wiped  his  forehead,  standing  his  ground. 
His  first  shock  was  succeeded  by  a  feeling  of  ex- 
ultation. He  felt  that  he  had  got  the  better  of 
a  powerful  adversary,  that  he  had  succeeded  in 
freeing  himself  from  a  bondage  that  other  people 
had  found  unrelaxing;  and  he  had  done  this 
without  the  aid  of  any  of  those  texts  or  the 
crossing  of  the  air  with  any  of  those  symbols 
which  had  been  found  necessary  by  the  heroes 


46  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

of  the  stories  which  he  had  read  of  similar  mys- 
terious encounters. 

"I  defied  him,"  he  muttered.  "I  defied  him 
and  I  hurled  his  mocking  words  back  at  him!  I 
showed  him  I  feared  him  not,  and  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  lure  me  to  return  to  him.  Ha,  I 
showed  him  that  I  was  his  master,  not  he  mine! 
and  here  I  stand  still,  not  fleeing  from  him, 
should  he  not  be  satisfied  with  the  result  of  our 
meeting.  I  stand — I  defy  him." 

He  had  his  back  against  a  tree,  and  he  was 
shaking  his  fist  in  the  direction,  or  what  he 
fancied  was  the  direction,  of  the  grove  that  had 
surrounded  that  mysterious  cottage.  From  the 
days  of  his  childhood  by  the  side  of  his  Scotch 
nurse,  his  imagination  had  been  appealed  to  by 
the  superstitious  and  the  supernatural.  All  those 
elements  of  the  religion  of  so  many  of  the  people  in 
whose  midst  his  childhood  was  passed,  were  as- 
similated by  him  until  they  had  become  part  of  his 
life.  Among  a  people  who  talked  of  second  sight 
and  who  burnt  witches  in  batches;  who  looked 
daily  for  the  realisation  of  the  lurid  pictures  of 
the  Apocalypse;  whose  religion  materialised  the 
Spirit  of  Evil  and  cherished  the  result  as  fer- 
vently as  it  did  its  incarnation  of  the  Divine — 
such  an  imagination  as  Byron  possessed  was  ever 
active.  He  could  not  but  believe  in  the  reality 
of  the  Demon  and  the  Dragon  whose  visitations 
were  whispered  about  in  every  chimney-corner 
in  Aberdeen.  When  to  the  oral  evidence  of  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  47 

existence  of  these  things  there  were  added  many 
excursions  into  the  supernatural  which  appeared 
in  the  sombre  pages  of  the  most  popular  of  those 
English  romancers  who  proceeded  the  sunburst 
of  Scott,  all  of  which  he  read  with  avidity,  the 
seriousness  of  the  impression  produced  upon  his 
receptive  mind  by  the  incidents  of  the  night  may 
be  taken  for  granted. 

For  the  time  he  overlooked  the  fact  that  the 
figure  which  had  appeared  by  his  side  out  of 
the  blackness  had  been  addressed  by  name  by 
the  very  practical  caretakers  of  Newstead.  It  was 
long  before  his  exultation  at  having  faced  and 
escaped  from  the  artful  Archfiend  himself  de- 
creased. He  remained  leaning  against  the  tree 
in  the  dawn,  asking  himself  what  he  had  been 
expected  to  do  when  he  had  yielded  to  the 
Tempter's  lure  and  had  partaken  of  supper  in 
that  mysterious  cottage.  Was  he  to  have  used 
the  knife  against  himself  in  response  to  the 
taunts  of  the  Tempter?  Was  he  to  have  taken 
the  customary  oath  to  assign  his  soul  to  the 
Pit  in  exchange  for  some  immediate  material 
advantage? 

He  put  the  question  aside  as  unnecessary  in 
the  circumstances,  though  undeniably  interesting 
from  certain  standpoints.  Whatever  the  incident 
of  the  temptation  had  been,  he  had  resisted  it. 
He  had  saved  his  soul  alive,  and  the  baffled  Fiend 
had  probably  found  it  prudent,  though  he  was 
not  certain  on  this  "point,  to  vanish  in  a  flame  the 


48  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

moment  his  back  was  turned,  while  the  cottage 
which  had  been  conjured  out  of  the  black  air  of 
the  night  had  doubtless  vanished  into  the  grey 
air  of  the  dawn. 

He  felt  glad  to  lean  for  some  time  longer 
against  his  tree.  The  truth  was  that  he  felt 
deadly  tired.  He  had  walked  more  during  the 
night  than  he  had  ever  done  within  the  same 
time,  and  his  deformed  foot  could  now  barely 
support  him.  The  night  had  been  an  exciting 
one,  from  the  moment  that  he  had  quarrelled 
with  his  mother  at  dusk  and  had  sought  to  free 
himself  from  her  thraldom.  He  had  witnessed 
a  miracle  in  the  skies  such  as  he  had  never  heard 
of  being  seen  before  on  earth,  and  he  had  been 
several  times  in  jeopardy  of  his  life.  If  a  branch 
of  the  trees  through  which  his  runaway  horse  had 
crashed,  had  struck  him  on  the  head  it  would  have 
killed  him,  and  if  the  animal  had  stopped  less 
suddenly  at  the  gate  he  would  have  been  thrown 
head  foremost  against  the  wall  and  his  brains 
would  have  been  scattered  upon  the  road. 

Then  there  was  the  comical  crisis  of  the  pouting, 
pursed  mouth  of  the  blunderbuss — comical,  but 
on  the  verge  of  a  tragedy.  The  ridiculous  mouth 
of  the  thing  looking  out  of  the  window  was  open 
like  a  yokel's  in  expectancy  of  a  comedy,  but  the 
thing  might  have  witnessed  a  tragedy. 

And  then  came  this  last. 

He  remembered  how  the  flame  from  the  candle 
had  illuminated  the  face,  showing  how  like  it  was 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  49 

to  the  picture  which  hung  over  the  mantelpiece 
in  his  mother's  house.  He  had  seen  her  stand 
before  it  railing  against  the  man  whose  likeness 
it  was,  the  scamp  who  had  reduced  her  to  beg- 
gary, and  then  wailing  before  it,  calling  him  her 
beautiful  husband,  the  darling  of  her  life.  It 
was  undoubtedly  a  devil's  trick — that  appearing 
with  the  features  of  his  father. 

Suddenly  a  cold  thought  came  to  him — it  was 
a  dreadful  possibility ;  but  he  had  heard  a  Scotch 
story  of  the  curse  laid  upon  an  evil  "light  o' 
love" — that  was  the  Scotch  name  for  him — his 
disembodied  spirit  finding  no  rest,  but  forced  to 
wander  in  awful  disquiet  from  place  to  place, 
appearing  to  those  whom  he  had  known  in  life, 
and  ever  being  the  precursor  of  misfortune.  Peo- 
ple had  not  been  reticent  in  his  presence  on  the 
subject  of  the  delinquencies  of  his  father;  and 
his  mother  had  been  the  least  reticent  of  all. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  his  light-o'-love  father 
was  undergoing  the  penalty  assigned  to  his  type, 
that  his  latest  visit  was  to  the  inheritance  of 
his  son? 

With  the  terror  of  this  question  upon  him,  he 
moved  away  from  the  shadowy  trees  in  the 
direction  of  the  carriage  drive,  which  was  now 
fully  apparent  in  the  dawn.  By  the  time  he  had 
painfully  worked  his  way  to  the  entrance  gates, 
the  world  was  fitfully  awake.  There  was  the  au- 
tumn twittering  of  a  robin  on  an  elm,  the  quick, 
silent  flight  of  a  blackbird  from  the  shrubbery, 


50  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  scamper  of  a  hare  through  the  undergrowth, 
the  crowing  of  innumerable  cocks  from  far  and 
near,  the  shrill  shriek  of  peacocks,  and  the  con- 
stant cawing  of  the  rooks,  flying  in  slow,  waver- 
ing flocks  from  the  trees  to  the  fields. 

He  stood  at  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  gates,  look- 
ing over  the  broad  country  in  front  of  him,  and 
at  the  broad  road  running  to  right  and  left.  It 
was  a  wretched  moment  for  him.  All  the  sense 
of  exultation  which  had  been  with  him  a  short 
time  before  had  departed,  giving  place  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  humiliation.  It  was  humiliating  for 
the  owner  of  the  demesne  behind  him,  and  the 
broad  fields  facing  him,  to  stand  outside  those 
gates,  not  knowing  whether  he  should  take  the 
road  to  the  left  or  the  road  to  the  right.  It  was 
all  the  same  to  him  which  direction  he  took. 

He  had  not  gone  more  than  half  a  mile  before 
he  was  exhausted.  He  seated  himself  on  the 
brink  of  the  dusty  green  bank  at  the  roadside  to 
wait  for  the  first  vehicle  that  might  come  up. 
His  vigil  was  not  a  long  one.  In  five  minutes  he 
was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  he  next  opened  his  eyes,  he  found 
people  bending  over  him — women  and  a 
man.  The  former  were  interested  and  sympa- 
thetic, the  latter  was  peevish  and  protesting.  A 
coach,  with  four  big  horses  and  a  coachman  to 
match,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

But  Byron  was  oblivious  of  all  save  only  the 
face  which  was  looking  into  his  own.  That  face 
made  a  complete  heaven  for  his  eyes.  It  seemed 
to  him  at  that  moment  (and  ever  after)  that  he 
had  never  had  a  delight  in  life  that  was  not  some- 
how associated  with  that  face.  He  could  see  that 
the  eyes  were  of  the  darkest  blue  of  a  pansy,  and 
that  the  hair  which  showed  under  the  hood  of 
the  blue  satin  cloak  and  at  the  clasp  under  her 
chin,  where  a  couple  of  little  rings  eddied  into  light, 
was  like  yellow  silk — the  yellow,  not  of  cowslips, 
nor  of  primroses,  nor  yet  of  gold ;  it  was  brighter 
than  these;  it  was  the  yellow  of  moonlight 
quivering  upon  the  swaying  of  the  sea. 

And  her  lips  were  parted,  and  her  hand  was 
holding  one  of  his. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  child,  resume  your  place 
in  the  coach,"  came  the  petulant,  peevish  voice 
of  the  man.  He  was  elderly.  He  spoke  before 

51 


52  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

he  had  quite  completed  a  yawn,  and  he  yawned 
before  he  had  quite  completed  his  sentence.  "  For 
the  Lord's  sake,  why  all  this  pother  about  a 
gipsy's  brat?  Can  you  doubt  that  he  is  aught 
else?  Look  at  his  jacket — the  cast-off  garment 
of  a  young  gentleman.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
girl?  Lord!  I  sleep  on  my  legs.  Madam,  will 
you  exercise  your  authority  over  her,  if  you  have 
any;  I  protest  that  I  have  none." 

"  Mary,  my  dear,  do  you  think  that  it  is  wise? " 
said  the  elderly  lady  with  sweet,  silver-haired 
meekness.  She  was  doing  her  best  to  obey  her 
husband  without  prejudice  to  the  sympathy  she 
felt  for  her  daughter's  investigations,  and  her  own 
interest  in  the  newly  awakened  boy. 

"Of  course,  it  is  wise;  ask  the  vicar,"  said  the 
girl. 

"Of  course,  to  be  charitable,  but  on  the 
present  occasion — he  has  certainly  the  loveliest 
eyes,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Loveliest  fiddlesticks ! ' '  cried  the  man.  ' '  Lord ! 
if  every  wayside  adventurer  had  good  eyes,  every 
woman  would  become  his  good  Samaritan!" 

"  I  'm  perfectly  certain  that  he  is  young  Byron, 
I  said  so  at  first,"  cried  the  girl,  looking  up. 

"Ask  him  if  he  is  Lord  Byron,"  suggested  the 
mother. 

"The  way  to  turn  a  plain  vagabond  into  an 
impostor,"  said  the  man.  "Oh,  ask  him,  by  all 
means.  You  are  Lord  Byron,  my  little  man,  is  't 
not  so?" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  53 

Byron  was  by  this  time  fully  awake.  He  got 
upon  his  feet,  and  in  the  act  caught  sight  of  his 
tatters — they  were  not  improved  by  being  rolled 
in  the  ditch.  He  hung  his  head,  blushing  with 
shames-all  the  more  vividly  when  he  saw  the 
condition  of  his  hands.  The  blood  had  congealed 
in  their  scratches. 

The  first  step  that  he  took  caused  the  elder  lady 
to  exclaim: 

"Ah,  'tis  indeed  young  Byron!" 

Her  daughter  made  a  little  motion  with  her 
hand,  and  looked  meaningly  at  her  mother. 

"My  poor  boy!  how  did  you  come  here?"  she 
asked  quickly.  "  I  knew  at  once  that  you  were 
Byron.  That  was  why  we  stopped  the  coach. 
Of  course  you  are  Byron." 

"Oh,  of  course — quite  as  a  matter  of  course," 
said  her  father.  "Think  of  a  good  tale  to  ac- 
count for  your  having  made  your  bed  in  a  ditch, 
my  little  man.  You  did  it  from  choice,  I  am 
sure,  my  lord." 

Byron  looked  at  him  without  a  word. 

"You  have  been  thrown  from  your  horse;  tell 
us  how  it  happened,"  cried  the  girl. 

"Highwaymen.  You  know  that  you  were 
warned  only  a  week  ago,  my  dear,"  said  her 
mother,  turning  to  the  man,  a  tone  of  triumph 
in  her  voice. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  give  the  lad  a  crown,  and 
send  him  back  to  his  caravan,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Don't  mind  papa,"  said  the  girl.     "  He  is  fast 


54  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

asleep ;  he  is  only  talking  in  his  dreams ;  that  was 
ever  his  way.  Just  tell  us  that  you  are  Lord 
Byron,  and  all  will  be  well." 

"  I  fancied  that  even  in  my  present  state  I  bore 
with  me  a  token  that  could  not  be  misread,"  said 
the  boy,  looking  at  his  foot.  "  I  am  Lord  Byron; 
but  I  did  not  ask  you  to  stop  your  coach  to  pity 
me,  or  to  insult  me.  I  have  the  honour  to  wish 
you  good-morning." 

He  bowed  and  put  up  his  hand  to  remove  his 
cap.  He  seemed  surprised  and  mortified  that  no 
cap  was  on  his  head. 

The  elderly  gentleman  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry!"  he  exclaimed,  and  now 
he  raised  his  hands.  He  crossed  the  road  from  the 
coach  door,  at  which  he  had  been  standing,  to  the 
boy,  saying  quite  genially. 

"  How  i'  the  name  of  Heaven? — my  unfortunate 
lad!  Now,  who  could  have  guessed?  I  dare 
swear  that  you  thought  me  an  insolent  vulgarian 
for  my  remark.  But  could  you  see  yourself! 
Is  't  possible  that  you  passed  the  night  in  the — 
on  the  roadside.  'Fore  Gad!  't  is  not  possible!" 

He  spoke  in  the  manner  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, and  it  sounded  old-fashioned,  even  in  the 
first  ten  years  of  the  nineteenth.  It  suggested 
leisure  and  deliberation;  it  had  nothing  of  the 
bustle  of  the  pantaloons  which  were  just  coming 
into  vogue. 

"I  lost  my  horse,"  said  Byron,  making  a  bold 
attempt  to  take  a  short  cut  through  his  ad- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  55 

ventures  of  the  night.  "  He  bolted  with  me  and 
killed  himself  at  a  gate."  All  the  party  looked 
across  the  ditch  into  the  field.  "No,  not  here 
at  the  other  side  of  the  grounds,  I  think  it  must 
have  been." 

"And  you  were  hurt?  You  must  have  been 
hurt,  or  you  would  have  been  able  to  walk  up  to 
the  house,"  said  the  elder  lady. 

"No,  I  was  not  hurt.  I  was  thrown  among 
trees,  and  escaped  with  a  scratch  or  two.  I  have 
been  at  the  house.  I  did  not  know  it  had  been  let 
to  strangers .  I  found  the  doors  closed  in  my  face. ' ' 

"Lord  Grey  de  Ruthen  is  your  tenant,  and  he 
has  been  out  of  the  country  for  the  past  six 
months,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  So  that  you  were  forced  to  pass  the  night  on 
the  roadside?  Oh,  my  boy!  you  must  be  starv- 
ing," cried  the  elder  of  the  ladies.  The  younger 
was  equally  compassionate.  Among  women  all 
ages  are  compassionate.  With  men,  it  exists 
only  during  the  first  few  years  of  fatherhood,  when 
it  exists  at  all. 

"  I  was  not  in  such  straits  as  that,"  said  Byron. 
He  thought  it  better  not  to  go  into  particulars. 
He  had  noticed  that  the  fat  coachman  was 
slumbering  on  the  box,  and  that  the  gentleman 
was  once  more  yawning,  not  angrily,  as  before, 
only  with  polite  weariness. 

The  golden  girl  saw  her  father  fingering  the 
handle  of  the  coach  door.  She  took  Byron's 
hand,  saying: 


56  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  We  are 
your  kinspeople,  the  Chaworths  of  Annesley.  It 
is  only  a  short  way  to  the  Hall.  You  will  come 
with  us.  We  can  provide  you  with  a  more  com- 
fortable bed  than  you  will  find  on  any  roadside, 
and  send  you  to — to  your  destination  during  the 
day.  Is  not  that  our  best  plan,  papa?" 

"  What  you  please,  what  you  please,  my  dear ; 
any  plan  that  means  a  move  towards  our  beds  is 
the  best  plan,"  replied  the  gentleman  wearily. 
He  had  plainly  reached  that  stage  of  weariness 
which  means  indifference  to  the  most  preposter- 
ous suggestions,  if  only  they  do  not  exclude  an 
immediate  repose. 

Byron  himself  was  not  very  far  removed  from 
this  stage;  but  even  if  he  had  been  sufficiently 
alert  to  be  able  to  protest  his  unwillingness  to 
put  any  one  to  any  trouble  on  his  account,  there 
would  still  have  remained  in  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  found  himself  a  sufficient  counter- 
weight to  any  mere  considerations  of  politeness. 
He  had  looked  into  Mary  Chaworth's  face.  He 
was  in  her  hands.  She  could  have  led  him  any- 
where— even  back  to  his  mother. 

"How  kind  you  are!"  he  muttered.  "But  I 
am  unfit 

He  glanced  at  the  satin  and  lace  of  the  ladies' 
dresses  —  they  were  both  in  evening  toilet,  with 
satin-hooded  wraps — and  then  at  his  own  rent 
raggedness. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven  enter  the  coach,"  said 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  57 

Mr.  Chaworth,  thrusting  his  phrase  forward  so  as 
to  obstruct  the  boy's  excuses.  If  they  were  to 
begin  the  fencer's  play  of  punctilio,  they  might  be 
on  the  roadside  for  half  an  hour.  Mr.  Chaworth 
felt  that  his  daughter  would  have  done  well  to 
remain  asleep  among  the  cushions  of  the  coach, 
instead  of  sending  her  eyes  abroad  into  the  dawn 
in  search  of  casual  occupants  of  ditch  dormitories. 
But  she  had  discovered  a  kinsman  who  could  not 
be  neglected — that  was  the  worst  of  it;  young 
Byron,  confound  him!  could  not  be  left  in  his 
ditch.  The  most  elemental  principles  of  hos- 
pitality— drat  them! — insisted  on  his  rescuing  a 
cousin  from  so  deplorable  a  position. 

But  to  stand  on  punctilio — punctilio  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"Get  in — get  in — get  into  the  coach!"  cried  the 
gentleman,  and  Byron,  breathless  before  this 
pitchfork  hospitality,  went  headlong  into  the 
vehicle  after  the  ladies.  He  fancied  that  he  saw 
a  meaning  twitch  of  the  eyebrow  on  the  part  of 
the  footman  who  was  at  the  handle  of  the  door  in 
the  direction  of  one  who  stood  just  behind  Mr. 
Chaworth.  The  twitch  suggested  "What  next?" 

But  within  the  coach  all  was  cushioned  courtesy 
— no  scrupulous  drawing  aside  of  silk  skirts  to 
avoid  the  assault  of  his  boots.  No  avoidance  of 
the  unsavoury  grass  that  still  clung  to  him,  but 
without  sufficient  tenacity,  through  his  contact 
with  the  roadside  bank.  He  was  helped  by 
friendly  gloved  hands  when  he  stumbled  over  a 


58  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

twisted  mat  on  the  floor,  and  then  he  found  him- 
self among  the  cushions  opposite  to  the  girl. 

She  hoped  that  he  remembered  having  met  her 
long  ago — how  long  ago  was  it? — he  was  only  a 
child — it  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago — four 
or  five  years. 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven,  child,  cease  your 
chatter,"  cried  her  father,  when. the  coachman 
had  awakened,  and  the  horses  began  to  scent 
their  stables.  "  What,  are  we  to  be  fully  aroused 
for  the  day  before  we  have  quite  composed  our- 
selves for  the  night?  Cannot  you  see  that  Byron 
has  no  mind  to  pit  his  voice  against  the  clatter 
of  the  high  road?  Give  him  an  opportunity  to 
recover  himself  from  the  effects  of  your  sudden 
pounce  upon  him." 

The  girl  lifted  up  her  hands  in  a  very  pretty 
posture  of  protest. 

"  Dear  Cousin  Byron,  do  you  really  think  of  me 
as  a  hawk,  and  of  yourself  as  a  leveret  on  the 
roadside?"  she  asked. 

But  her  cousin  could  only  blush  in  the  corner 
of  his  seat.  His  mind  was  not  blushing,  however ; 
he  saw  the  girl's  exquisite  hair  shining  between 
the  outlines  of  her  face  and  the  quilted  lining  of 
her  hood — it  was  like  the  aureole  of  a  Madonna; 
and  his  lips  were  parted  to  tell  her  that  the  bird 
which  she  appeared  to  him  to  be  when  he  had 
opened  his  eyes  and  seen  her  stooping  over  him 
was  not  a  hawk,  but  a  dove,  silver  white,  with 
floss  of  gold  on  its  shapely  head ;  but  his  eyes  fell, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  59 

and  his  lips  closed,  biting  a  sigh  in  twain.  He 
could  not  speak. 

"  The  boy  has  sense,"  said  Mr.  Chaworth.  "  We 
shall  be  at  home  in  ten  minutes.  Let  us  spend 
the  time  in  composing  ourselves." 

"  I  have  been  doing  nothing  else  since  the  last 
dance,  dear  papa,"  said  the  girl. 

"The  last  dance?"  murmured  her  father. 
"With  you  there  is  no  last  dance;  your  life  is 
one  perpetual  dance.  When  you  are  not  patting 
the  measure  with  your  feet,  you  are  singing  the 
theme  with  your  voice." 

"  Is  that  all? "  said  she  with  a  pout.  "  Ah,  my 
dear  papa,  if  you  could  but  see  my  heart." 

"Jigs,  my  dear,  jumping  jigs,  that  is  the 
measure  to  which  your  heart  dances.  The  linnet 
is  its  jig-maker." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  I  am  quite  content.  I  was 
afraid  that  you  were  going  to  suggest  the  jay  or 
the  woodpecker,"  said  she. 

"They  are  too  regular  for  you,  miss;  but  I 
might  have  thought  of  the  owl  or  the  night- jar; 
they  are  birds  of  the  night,  needing  no  sleep,  and 
fancying  that  no  one  else  needs  any.  That  is  my 
last  word." 

He  put  himself  back  among  his  cushions  and 
closed  his  eyes,  while  the  girl  made  the  daintiest 
mock  of  him  imaginable. 

Byron  listened  to  their  exchange  of  phrases, 
with  envy  of  the  man's  position  that  entitled  him 
to  provoke  the  girl  to  respond.  During  their 


60  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

thistledown  archery  he  had  opened  up  before  him 
a  vision  of  a  relationship  more  delightful  than  any 
he  had  thought  possible  to  exist.  The  pretty 
tyranny  of  the  girl,  before  which  the  father  bent 
his  head  with  a  submission  that  had  in  it  some- 
thing of  humour,  as  well  as  pride;  her  fearless 
raillery  of  him,  and  his  good-humoured  replies, 
were  a  revelation  to  the  boy  of  the  happiness 
which  could  exist  in  a  family. 

He  had  never  before  had  such  an  experience  as 
this.  He  had  a  very  faint  recollection  of  his 
father  (though  it  grew  as  time  went  on,  and  he 
heard  more  about  him),  but  he  had  had  the 
amplest  experience  of  his  mother  to  confirm  him 
in  his  remembrance  of  a  bickering  in  their  Scotch 
lodgings,  which  ended  in  the  departure  of  his 
father  and  the  exultant  clamour  of  his  mother. 
He  knew  what  was  his  mother's  nature.  It  had 
caused  him  to  look  forward  to  his  return  to  her 
house  for  his  holidays  with  trepidation.  It  had 
compelled  him  to  leave  his  house  at  Southwell  six 
hours  before.  His  experience  of  domesticity  had 
led  him  to  think  of  it  only  in  the  light  of  an  end- 
less brawl.  But  now  he  saw  the  daughter's  face 
opposite  him,  and  saw  that  the  smile  which  had 
brightened  it  all  the  time  that  she  was  playing 
with  words  as  with  snowballs  with  her  father, 
had  not  yet  faded  from  it;  he  glanced  furtively 
at  the  face  of  the  gentleman  beside  her,  and  he 
saw  that  he  too  was  smiling,  though  with  closed 
eyes.  In  his  own  there  were  tears  at  this  glimpse 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  61 

into  a  world  in  which  he  had  no  part — in  which 
he  could  have  no  part. 

He  lost  something  by  confining  his  observation 
to  those  two  faces ;  he  should  have  looked  at  the 
elderly  lady  who  sat  beside  her  daughter.  She 
was  looking  at  him.  He  would  have  seen  in  her 
eyes  something  sweeter,  tenderer,  deeper  than  he 
found  in  the  expression  which  lingered  upon  the 
faces  of  the  father  and  the  daughter. 

But  what  he  saw  gave  him  a  thought  which 
never  quite  left  him — the  thought  that  he  had 
missed  something  in  life — that  something,  which 
his  quick  understanding  told  him  was  nearest  to 
the  Divine  in  life,  could  never  be  his.  It  never 
was  his;  and,  lacking  it,  he  attained  only  un- 
happiness  and  immortality. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  \j\7E  have  five  hours  till  breakfast  time;  how 

VV  shall  we  put  in  the  time?"  cried  Mary 
Chaworth,  when  she  was  standing  under  the  dome 
of  the  entrance  to  Annesley  Hall.  Her  mother 
had  given  instructions  to  a  servant  regarding  a 
room  for  Byron,  and  her  father  was  refreshing 
himself  at  a  table  on  which  decanters  stood.  The 
moment  that  the  girl  spoke  he  laid  down  his  glass 
and  raised  his  hands. 

"  She  means  it  too,  egad!  "  he  cried.  "  She  is 
ready  for  another  dance — one  that  will  last  till 
breakfast  time.  Leave  her  side,  my  Lord  Byron, 
she  is  dangerous,  I  tell  you." 

"I  have  it,"  said  Mary.  "Cousin  Byron  will 
give  us  a  full  account  of  his  adventures  since  the 
evening.  Can  you  compress  the  tale  into  the 
space  of  four  hours,  Cousin?" 

"  Not  to  do  justice  to  the  theme,"  said  Byron; 
he  could  not  remain  shy  when  such  a  girl  was 
rallying  him  and  had  called  him  cousin.  "  JEneas 
took  some  days  over  his  story,  did  he  not?  and 
yet  he  had  only  to  relate  how  Troy  was  captured." 

"His  story  took  some  days  in  the  telling,  and 
I  '11  swear  that  I  took  several  months  learning  to 
read  it,"  said  Mr.  Chaworth. 

62 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  63 

"  He  told  it  in  poetry,  and  embellished  it,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Mary. 

"We  shall  put  Byron  into  the  Swan  Room," 
said  Mrs.  Chaworth,  when  she  had  conferred  with 
the  housekeeper — hastily  summoned — at  a  door 
under  the  gallery,  half  hidden  among  swinging 
tapestry.  He  prepared  to  follow  Mr.  Chaworth's 
servant,  who  carried  a  lighted  candle  which  looked 
official,  but  absurd,  for  it  was  now  broad  daylight. 

"  Lud!  I  had  quite  forgot  that  you  were  starv- 
ing," said  Mr.  Chaworth,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  shoulder.  "  You  cannot  go  to  bed  without 
refreshing  yourself." 

But  Byron  affirmed  that  he  had  had  an  ex- 
cellent supper  only  a  few  hours  before.  Everyone 
looked  at  him  incredulously. 

"I'  faith,  in  that  case  you  were  not  so  badly 
treated  as  I  supposed,"  said  Mr.  Chaworth.  "  They 
let  you  enter  Newstead  after  all." 

Byron  shook  his  head. 

"I  believe  that  his  adventures  would  be  more 
interesting  than  those  of  ^Eneas  that  such  a  fuss 
was  made  about,"  said  Mary.  "Tell  me  if  you 
supped  after  the  manner  of  King  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, in  the  fields,  or  under  the  beeches  with 
the  squirrels?" 

"He  will  tell  us  all  after  breakfast  to-day," 
said  Mrs.  Chaworth. 

He  began  to  feel  himself  something  of  a  hero 
standing  among  these  pleasant  people  who  showed 
such  interest  in  his  welfare.  He  cherished  the 


64  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

mystery  of  his  supping  place,  shaking  his  head  at 
every  question  that  was  put  to  him.  He  felt 
himself  of  some  importance,  until  on  his  way  to 
the  staircase  he  faced  a  long  mirror  at  the  back 
of  a  jardiniere.  He  started,  blushed  scarlet,  and 
then  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"A  guy — who  was  there  to  tell  me  that  I  was 
such  a  guy  ?  "  he  cried.  "  To  think  of  your  taking 
me  into  the  coach  in  such  a  state!  I  knew,  of 
course,  that  I  was  not  exactly  a  dandy,  but  on 
the  other  hand — oh,  a  chimney-sweep !  And  none 
of  you  laughed!  not  even  at  this  jacket!" 

"  Nay,  we  had  not  the  heart  to  laugh  at  what 
was  plainly  so  near  its  end,"  said  Mary  Chaworth. 
"  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  would  last  you  to  the 
end  of  our  journey,  if  the  horses  were  rapid." 

She  put  a  daintily  poised  forefinger  and  thumb 
upon  one  of  the  sleeves — he  saw  at  once  how  like 
her  hand  was  to  a  white  dove  descending  upon 
his  shoulder,  fluttering  for  a  moment  with  a 
fastidious  droop  before  alighting — and  toyed 
with  one  of  the  rents.  I 

"The  envious  Casca,"  she  said,  and  Byron 
laughed. 

"That  were  to  assume  that  I  am  Caesar,"  said 
he. 

"  Ay,  but  '  dead  and  turned  to  clay ' — clay  't  is 
on  your  jacket,  sir,  and  I  protest  that  it  is  pretty 
equally  distributed  over  your  body." 

"So  I  perceive,"  said  he.  "And  yet  you  did 
not  laugh — you  were  able  to  recognise  me  lying 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  65 

on  the  ditch  side!  I  shall  never  forget  your 
condescension. ' ' 

Mr.  Chaworth  was  becoming  impatient,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  major-domo  with  the  official 
candlestick. 

"  I  think  that  it  would  be  well  to  defer  com- 
pliments for  an  hour  or  two,"  said  he.  "You 
will  find  that  the  blackbirds  are  not  generous  in 
the  amount  of  sleep  they  allow  to  you  at  this  hour 
of  the  morning." 

He  was  half-way  up  the  first  flight  of  stairs  to 
where  it  branched  off  to  right  and  left  of  the 
gallery  before  Byron  had  said  his  good-nights  to 
Mrs.  Chaworth  and  Mary. 

The  room  to  which  he  was  conducted  bore 
along  the  whole  length  of  one  of  its  sides  a  fine 
tapestry  illustrating  the  story  of  Leda.  The 
shutters  were  closed  and  candles  were  lighted  in 
sconces  on  the  wall,  though  their  illumination 
seemed  pale  and  sickly  where  the  daylight 
streamed  into  the  room  through  the  slit  where 
the  folds  of  the  shutters  barely  met.  Byron, 
when  he  found  himself  alone,  blew  out  the  candles 
and  opened  the  shutters  and  one  of  the  windows, 
so  that  the  room  was  flooded  with  sunshine,  and 
the  notes  of  the  blackbirds  and  thrushes. 

He  seated  himself  at  the  window  and  indulged 
in  a  revel  of  thoughts.  They  came  upon  him  with 
a  rush,  these  thoughts — with  the  sound  of  win- 
nowing wings,  with  the  clash  of  music,  with 
bursts  of  sunshine.  They  sang  in  his  ears  the 


66  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

magic  songs  of  Ariel ;  they  carried  him  away  with 
them,  supported  on  their  wings,  and  left  him 
breathless  and  fevered  in  strange  places.  They 
filled  him  with  the  yearnings  of  youth,  the  passion 
of  man.  They  fired  his  brain  with  the  ardour  of 
a  soldier,  the  ardour  of  an  orator.  They  led  him 
up  to  the  snow-peaks  of  mountains,  down  into 
the  shadowy  folds  of  valleys;  then  on  to  the  sea 
— the  sea  that  taught  him  to  sing  of  the  pleasure 
of  the  pathless  wilds,  the  rapture  of  the  lonely 
shore — and  then  brought  him  to  stray  beside  the 
still  waters  that  reflected  his  star — the  star  of 
love.  He  was  left  standing  by  that  tranquil 
deep  and  the  only  light  of  his  life  was  that  which 
was  shed  by  that  star. 

At  other  times  this  strange  thraldom  of  thought 
had  taken  possession  of  him,  driving  him  away 
from  all  the  associations  of  boyhood,  and  leaving 
him  most  frequently  in  the  depths  of  a  wilder- 
ness, with  a  passionate,  but  undefined,  yearning 
in  his  heart.  He  could  not  understand  what  this 
force  was,  or  what  it  meant,  or  why  he  alone 
should  be  subjected  to  it.  He  had  shyly  asked 
one  or  two  of  his  schoolfellows  what  it  meant,  and 
they  had  laughed  at  him — even  the  most  sympa- 
thetic. That  was  why  he  had  felt  that  he  only 
was  made  to  suffer  this  thraldom.  What  did  it 
mean,  he  wondered.  How  was  it  that  to  him  and 
him  only  the  sea  was  articulate!  How  was  it 
that  into  his  ear  only  the  mountains  spoke  this 
message?  How  was  it  that  solitude  became  an 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  67 

oratorio  to  be  heard  by  him  only  in  all  its  move- 
ments of  splendour,  and  rapture,  and  tenderness, 
and  devotion?  How  was  it  that  he  only  could 
hear  the  passionate  whisper  of  the  Evening  Star? 

He  did  not  know  what  the  voice  was  that 
called* to  him  mysteriously — the  voice  which  it 
seemed  called  to  him  alone.  He  could  not  under- 
stand that  it  was  laid  on  him  to  interpret  all  that 
he  heard  for  the  benefit  of  the  rest  of  the  world 
who  could  not  hear;  and  this  was  why  he  had  a 
constant  feeling  of  a  longing  unsatisfied,  a  pas- 
sionate vague  yearnftig  that  seemed  to  him  as 
vain  as  it  was  vague. 

Once  or  twice  he  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of 
comprehension  of  the  great  secret.  It  was  when 
he  had  read  to  him  the  story  of  the  life  of  some 
of  the  prophets  of  the  Bible.  These  men  who 
looked  at  the  things  of  Nature  around  them  and 
interpreted  between  them  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  must  surely  have  had  moments  such  as  his 
mysterious  moments.  And  the  poets — he  had 
found  in  many  great  poems  the  very  thoughts 
that  had  come  to  him  at  times.  The  poets  had 
made  their  revelations  to  the  world — he  felt  that 
to  him  they  were  no  revelations;  he  had  known 
them,  felt  them,  before  he  had  had  a  chance  of 
reading  the  poets'  songs.  Still  he  never  enter- 
tained the  thought  that  he  was  a  poet,  or  if  the 
possibility  ever  occurred  to  him,  it  did  not  dwell 
with  him. 

But  now  as  he  sat  at  the  open  window  and 


68  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  those 
tumultuous  thoughts  of  his  he  had  a  feeling  of 
such  hopefulness  as  had  never  before  been  his 
companion  in  those  wild,  vague,  unsatisfying  ex- 
cursions of  his.  He  had  a  sense  of  a  sympathetic 
ear  being  at  hand,  the  ear  of  one  who  could  listen 
and  understand,  one  who  would  not  merely 
stare  and  laugh  as  other  people  had  done,  chilling 
him  into  an  abashed  silence.  He  had  a  feeling 
that  the  girl  whose  face  he  had  seen  looking  down 
upon  his  face  when  he  had  opened  his  eyes  in  the 
early  dawn  would  be  able  to  tell  him  why  it  was 
that  he  had  that  strange  yearning  at  heart  every 
time  that  he  saw  a  lark  spring  from  a  meadow 
and  float  to  the  very  heaven,  as  it  seemed,  upon 
the  music  of  its  own  making.  Why  was  it  that 
he  felt  that  that  bird  sank  to  the  earth  again 
apparently  satisfied,  while  he  had  come  back 
from  his  fancy's  flight  with  that  yearning  still 
upon  him?  Why  was  it  that  he  never  heard  the 
lark  without  envy?  Why  was  it  that  he  could 
never  leave  the  woods  in  which  a  nightingale  was 
singing  without  feeling  that  somehow  the  night- 
ingale knew  the  secret  of  his  longings,  that  it  had 
somehow  solved  the  mystery  which  he  failed  to 
understand? 

Would  she  sympathise  with  him  if  he  were  to 
tell  her  that  now  and  again  a  strange  wistful  long- 
ing to  be  able  to  sing  took  possession  of  him — to 
sing  aloud  what  he  felt  on  standing  beside  the 
sea,  on  sitting  amid  the  populous  loneliness  of  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  69 

green  woods,  on  looking  at  the  Star  of  Love  which 
he  loved  to  see  hanging  like  a  torch  in  the  blue 
evening  skies  above  a  solitary  mountain  peak? 

He  had  a  hope  that  she  would  understand 
these  things  which  were  a  mystery  to  himself, 
and  would,  he  knew,  seem  more  mysterious  still 
to  any  of  his  few  friends  whom  he  might  approach 
when  his  heart  was  full.  The  mere  dwelling  upon 
the  possibility  of  being  able  to  talk  to  her,  face 
to  face,  to  tell  her  his  dreams,  his  fancies,  his 
longings,  made  him  feel  less  lonely  and  less  like 
one  who  is  wandering  in  darkness  and  in  doubt. 
So  much  joy  came  to  him  in  anticipation  it  was 
not  surprising  that  he  should  be  led  to  ask  himself 
if  being  with  her  was  not  the  object  of  all  his  long- 
ings in  the  woods  and  by  the  sea.  Was  this  the 
interpretation  of  the  longing  of  the  lark  which  it 
uttered  in  passionate  song — this  feeling  which  had 
now  taken  possession  of  him  and  brought  him  hap- 
piness because  it  brought  him  hope?  Was  this 
feeling  the  theme  of  the  nightingale?  Was  it  the 
lack  of  this  sympathy  that  had  driven  him  forth 
from  the  cold  companionship  of  his  life  up  to  the 
moment  when  he  had  looked  up  to  heaven  and 
had  seen  it  seeing  her  face  above  his  own? 

He  could  feel  his  heart  beating  tumultuously  as 
a  man's  heart  beats  when  on  the  threshold  of  the 
greatest  mystery  of  life.  He  was  in  a  fever  of 
excited  thought.  He  began  pacing  his  room  in- 
termittently, making  a  dash  in  one  direction  and 
then  stopping  suddenly;  walking  slowly  with  his 


To  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

hands  behind  his  head,  and  his  head  bent ;  stand- 
ing at  the  open  window  drinking  in  the  cool  morn- 
ing air,  every  breath  of  which  was  vibrant  with 
song,  and  after  a  few  moments  that  seemed 
passive,  turning  back  to  the  room  to  stare  at  the 
glimmering  god  in  the  form  of  a  swan  in  the 
tapestry  of  the  wall,  and  at  the  white  limbs  of 
Leda. 

Back  again  from  the  tapestry  to  his  pacing  of 
the  room;  but  not  for  long.  Passing  the  great 
bed  with  its  tent-like  drapery  he  looked  at  it  for 
a  moment  and  then  flung  himself  down  upon  the 
satin  coverlet,  weeping  passionately,  he  knew  not 
why. 

He  actually  fell  asleep  in  this  position  and  re- 
mained sleeping  for  some  time.  He  awoke  sud- 
denly and  looked  up  as  if  dazed. 

"She  is  here — she  is  here — under  the  same 
roof,  and,  having  seen  her,  I  shall  never  be  with- 
out her  again  in  the  world.  I  shall  never  be 
lonely  again  while  I  live,"  he  said  in  a  whisper. 

He  sprang  from  the  bed  and  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  as  if  he  had  heard  a  sudden  voice 
speaking  to  him — commanding  him.  With  one 
hand  pressed  against  his  forehead  he  stumbled  to 
a  table  where  there  was  a  Dresden  china  inkstand 
with  a  case  of  quills  beside  it,  and  a  box  of  writing- 
paper.  He  threw  himself  into  the  nearest  chair, 
caught  up  a  pen,  dipped  it,  and  began  to  scrawl 
feverishly.  Scarcely  pausing  for  an  instant  to 
find  a  word,  he  wrote  and  wrote  for  some  minutes 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  71 

till  the  pen  dropped  from  his  fingers.  Then  he 
caught  up  the  paper  and  read  what  he  had  written 
—he  read  in  a  whisper  as  if  the  page  revealed  a 
secret  to  him,  and  to  him  only. 

i. 

There  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters 

With  a  magic  like  to  thee, 
And  like  music  on  the  waters 

Is  thy  sweet  voice  to  me ; 
When,  as  if  its  sound  were  causing 
The  charmed  ocean's  pausing, 
The  waves  lie  still  and  gleaming, 
And  the  lull'd  winds  seem  dreaming. 

ii. 

When  the  midnight  moon  is  weaving 

Her  bright  chain  o'er  the  deep, 
Whose  breast  is  gently  heaving 

As  an  infant's  asleep: 
So  the  spirit  bows  before  thee, 
To  listen  and  adore  thee, 
With  a  full  and  soft  emotion 
Like  the  swell  of  summer's  ocean. 

He  read.  The  paper  dropped  from  his  fingers. 
He  lay  back  in  the  chair  and  laughed.  He  was 
still  laughing  while  he  undressed  himself;  but 
before  he  went  asleep  his  pillow  was  wet  with 
tears. 

The   secret   had  been  revealed    to   him;    not 
without  tears. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AND  yet  the  first  thought  that  came  to  him 
when  he  next  awoke  was  that  he  should 
have  to  dress  himself  in  an  intolerably  ragged 
suit  of  clothes.  He  had  vivid  recollections  of  the 
result  of  his  glance  at  the  mirror  in  the  hall  when 
going  to  the  stairs.  And  that  was  when  everyone 
was  sleepy,  so  that  it  scarcely  mattered  how  he 
was  dressed.  But  now  the  sunshine  was  stream- 
ing into  the  room,  and  in  those  clothes,  he  would 
look  like  a  gipsy  vagrant. 

In  another  moment,  however,  he  had  a  sense 
of  happiness;  tempered  only  by  a  slight  mis- 
giving. He  remembered  writing  something — 
verses — there  lay  the  sheet  of  manuscript  on  the 
floor,  just  where  it  had  fallen,  at  the  foot  of  the 
chair,  on  which  he  had  thrown  his  clothes;  and 
the  thought  that  now  came  to  him  was:  "How 
will  it  stand  the  ordeal  of  the  sunshine?"  He 
was  mindful  of  the  sense  of  passionate  delight, 
the  sense  of  glory  achieved,  of  the  vague  longing 
satisfied,  that  had  been  his  when  he  had  written 
those  lines;  but  would  they  stand  the  stress  of 
being  read  in  the  sunlight?  Would  he  find  that 
they  were  doggerel,  or  that  he  was  a  poet? 

He  turned  his  head  away  from  the  paper  on  the 

72 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  73 

floor,  so  that  he  would  not  be  tempted  to  try  to 
read  a  line  that  he  had  written.  He  had  not  the 
courage  to  get  out  of  bed  and  read  the  page  from 
first  to  last.  And  the  moment  that  he  turned 
his  face^to  the  wall,  the  thought  that  came  to  him 
was: 

"Whether  I  have  written  poetry  or  doggerel, 
I  shall  see  her  within  the  hour." 

Forthwith  the  thought  of  her  and  the  thought 
of  his  achievement  became  so  joined  in  his  mind 
that  they  seemed  to  be,  not  two  thoughts,  but  one. 
One  seemed  to  be  incomplete  without  the  other. 
The  two  combined  gave  him  the  delight  as  of  a 
search  rewarded  by  the  finding  of  a  pearl  of  great 
price.  The  poetry  had  come  only  because  he  had 
been  thinking  of  her.  She  had  filled  all  his 
thoughts,  and  the  poetry  which  had  flowed  from 
him  had  come  from  that  fountain  of  thought 
which  was  She. 

The  poetry  was  part  of  her.  The  inspiration 
had  come  from  her. 

It  was  this  thought  that  gave  him  courage,  and 
helped  to  banish  his  misgivings.  The  poetry 
could  not  but  contain  some  element  of  worth, 
when  she  had  been  the  origin  of  it. 

He  got  out  of  bed  and  picked  up  the  sheet  of 
paper,  and  read  the  lines.  They  sounded  quite 
new  to  him.  While  he  remembered  writing  them 
all,  he  had  no  recollection  of  any  single  line. 

A  great  joy  came  to  him,  making  the  blood 
flow  more  rapidly  in  his  veins,  and  burn  in  his 


74  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

face.  It  seemed  to  him  that,  not  only  was  the 
poetry  his  own,  but  that  the  girl  was  his  own  also, 
so  closely  had  the  two  become  associated  in  his 
mind.  He  felt  that  he  had  suddenly  entered  upon 
a  heritage  of  a  value  that  could  not  be  reckoned 
by  man.  And  so  he  had. 

And  he  had  been  so  nearly  missing  it  all!  He 
had  set  out  from  his  mother's  house  at  Southwell 
with  the  intention  of  entering  into  possession  of 
his  inheritance  at  Newstead,  and  when  its  doors 
were  shut  against  him,  he  felt  humiliated,  as 
though  the  place  had  passed  away  from  him  for- 
ever. He  had  actually  lain  down  to  sleep  at  the 
side  of  the  ditch,  like  any  vagrant,  and  lo!  he  had 
awakened  for  this — this  sense  of  having  achieved 
all  that  man  could  hope  to  achieve  in  the  world 
—this  sense  of  glory  and  rapture. 

It  was  like  a  fairy  story  realised.  The  young 
prince,  being  thrust  out  of  his  kingdom  by 
strangers,  and  being  found  asleep  on  the  dusty 
roadside  by  a  princess,  who  brought  him  to  her 
palace,  made  him  sit  on  the  throne  beside  her,  and 
endowed  him  with  more  than  half  her  kingdom, 
and  with  all  herself  as  well. 

It  took  him  some  time  to  recover  from  the  ex- 
citement that  his  vivid  fancy  had  caused  him, 
and  to  think  of  his  actual  position  at  that  moment. 
He  knew  that  the  Chaworths  were  relations  of  his 
own,  how  far  distant  he  could  not  tell.  At  any 
rate,  it  was  sufficiently  close  to  have  made  a  visit 
from  Mrs.  Chaworth  and  her  daughter  to  his 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  75 

mother  obligatory,  when  they  were  in  London 
several  years  before,  while  he  was  yet  a  child; 
and  it  was  sufficiently  distant  to  save  the  need 
for  any  exchange  of  visits  between  the  two 
families -when  his  mother  came  to  live  at  South- 
well, fourteen  or  fifteen  miles  from  Annesley 
Hall.  He  recollected  his  mother's  pointing  out 
the  entrance  to  the  Hall  to  him  when  they  drove 
past  one  afternoon  during  the  previous  summer. 
She  had  told  him  that  the  Chaworths,  who  were 
his  cousins,  lived  there,  and  that  they  were  too 
proud  to  own  the  relationship,  though  they  had 
visited  her  in  London. 

He  had  thought  no  more  about  the  Chaworths 
at  that  time,  only  reserving  to  himself  the  right 
to  think  that  the  ladies  of  the  family  showed  a 
certain  amount  of  wisdom  and  discrimination  in 
refraining  from  pressing  on  his  mother  their  claim 
to  regard  her  as  one  of  the  family.  He  knew  that 
no  one  had  ever  known  his  mother  as  a  friend 
without  living  to  regret  it. 

Young  as  he  was,  he  had  experience  enough  of 
his  mother  to  refuse  to  take  the  pride  of  the 
Chaworths  as  proved  on  the  evidence  which  she 
had  brought  forward  to  sustain  her  assertion. 
And  now  he  was  glad  that  he  had  not  done  them 
such  an  injustice.  Pride?  It  did  not  show  much 
pride  on  their  part  to  pick  him  up  from  the  road- 
side and  take  him  home  with  them  in  their  coach, 
in  spite  of  his  rags  and  his  begrimed  condition. 

And  at  this  point  of  his  reflections  the  weight 


76  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

of  the  thought  that  he  had  nothing  to  put  on  his 
limbs  except  those  same  rags  pressed  him  down 
into  his  bed  again.  He  thought  of  pleading  sick- 
ness— intolerable  weariness — any  excuse  would 
be  sufficient  to  save  him  from  the  intolerable 
humiliation  of  appearing  before  Mary  Chaworth 
in  those  rags. 

And  then  his  door  was  knocked  at,  and  Mr. 
Chaworth 's  man  entered  the  room  with  a  port- 
manteau, and  with  Mr.  Chaworth 's  compliments 
to  his  lordship,  to  inform  his  lordship  that  he  had 
given  directions  to  one  of  the  grooms  to  ride  to 
Southwell  for  a  fresh  suit  of  his  lordship's  clothes, 
and  the  man  had  just  returned  with  the  portman- 
teau, and  would  his  lordship  care  to  rise,  or  prefer 
to  have  luncheon  in  his  lordship's  room. 

His  lordship's  heart  rose  at  the  sight  of  his 
portmanteau  and  a  knowledge  of  its  contents. 
But  as  the  man  approached  the  bed,  there  came 
to  his  lordship  the  dreadful  thought  that  he 
might  see  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  the  verses 
were  scrawled.  What  if  the  valet  were  to  get  it 
in  his  hands  and  fling  it  away,  believing  it  to  be 
worthless!  Byron  had  a  man's  dread  of  new 
valets.  He  felt  very  humble  in  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Chaworth 's  man,  and  he  knew  that  he  would 
be  powerless  to  save  the  document  from  destruc- 
tion if  the  man  had  a  mind  to  destroy  it. 

He  temporised  with  him  in  order  to  get  the 
paper  into  his  hands  once  more,  and  effectively 
concealed;  but  a  strange  valet  is  inexorable  as 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  77 

Fate.  He  seems  to  perceive  every  attempt  that 
may  be  made  to  compel  him  to  keep  his  distance. 
His  eyes  are  watchful.  This  man  might  have 
entered  the  room  solely  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
within  reach  of  the  manuscript.  He  would  not 
leave  the  room  to  find  out  what  o'clock  it  was; 
he  had  announced  the  hour  to  be  half -past  eleven. 
He  would  not  even  carry  the  portmanteau  across 
the  room  to  the  small  table  where  his  lordship 
suggested  it  might  be  unpacked.  There  was  a 
stand  quite  close  to  the  bed,  he  explained  quite 
respectfully.  Would  he  be  pleased  to  close  the 
window,  Lord  Byron  asked  in  despair.  When 
the  man  went  to  the  window  his  lordship  threw 
the  coverlet  over  the  paper,  and  then  suffered 
himself  to  be  led  to  the  dressing-room,  where  a 
bath  was  awaiting  him. 

When  he  returned  to  the  bedroom,  he  found 
the  manuscript  neatly  smoothed  out  and  laid  on 
the  table  with  a  paper  weight  preventing  the 
possibility  of  its  being  blown  away  by  a  draught. 
The  valet  was  certainly  a  most  valuable  servant, 
and  Lord  Byron  feared  to  meet  his  eyes  for  the 
rest  of  the  morning. 

But,  clad  in  the  attire  for  which  Mr.  Chaworth 
had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  send  to  Southwell, 
he  felt  a  good  deal  less  shy  in  making  his  appear- 
ance in  the  breakfast-room  than  he  had  been  on 
his  arrival  at  the  Hall.  He  had  his  thanks  to  offer 
to  Mr.  Chaworth  for  his  kindness  in  the  matter  of 
the  portmanteau ;  but  Mary  affirmed  that  he  had 


78  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

looked  infinitely  more  picturesque  in  his  old 
clothes — yes,  much  more  like  a  gipsy  vagrant— 
than  he  did  now,  when  he  looked  as  common- 
place as  an  ordinary  English  gentleman. 

"  If  that  is  so,  it  is  a  more  complete  disguise  for 
me  than  the  other,"  said  Byron.  "I  sometimes 
feel  as  one  might  expect  a  gipsy  vagrant  to  feel, 
but  never  as  an  English  gentleman." 

"  You  must  possess  something  of  the  adroitness 
of  the  character  in  which  you  appeared  when  we 
came  upon  you,  if  you  managed  to  sup  within 
reasonable  distance  of  Newstead,"  said  Mr. 
Chaworth. 

Byron  felt  that  this  was  an  invitation  to  him 
to  narrate  his  adventures  of  the  night;  but  he 
did  not  wish  to  run  a  chance  of  being  thought  a 
fool  by  talking  about  the  cottage  hidden  among 
the  trees  of  his  park.  He  asked  Mr.  Chaworth 
if  there  was  not  a  man  named  Vince  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

Mr.  Chaworth  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"I  had  not  thought  of  Vince,"  said  he.  "You 
came  upon  Vince  in  the  course  of  your  adven- 
tures? But  if  you  supped  at  his  cottage,  why 
did  you  not  sleep  there  also?" 

Byron  showed  himself  to  be  ill  at  ease  at  the 
question,  and  Mrs.  Chaworth  tactfully  broke  in 
on  the  conversation. 

"  If  you  were  on  the  road  shortly  before  mid- 
night, you  may  be  able  to  say  if  our  people  were 
talking  nonsense  when  they  affirm  that  the  stars 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  79 

left  their  places  in  the  sky  and  kept  tumbling  to 
and  fro  for  an  hour,"  said  she. 

"  T  is  the  rascals  themselves  who  were  doing 
the  tumbling  about,  I  dare  swear,"  said  her  hus- 
band. "  'T  is  your  drunken  rogue  who  declares 
with  vehemence  that  everyone  about  him — nay, 
the  houses  and  the  King's  highway  itself — are  in 
a  condition  of  melancholy  instability." 

"But  last  night  the  thing  happened,"  said 
Byron.  "  I  do  not  suppose  that  such  a  thing 
ever  happened  in  the  world  before,  but  I  saw  it 
with  my  eyes  from  the  ridge  of  the  hill  near  a  wind- 
mill. The  night  was,  as  you  know,  very  dark, 
and  there  was  only  a  breath  of  air  now  and  again." 

"We  should  know;  we  were  nearly  stifled  in 
the  coach  on  our  way  to  the  Stapyltons'  ball," 
said  Mr.  Chaworth.  "  But  you  amaze  me." 

"  I  saw  two  stars  moving  side  by  side  across  the 
sky,"  said  Byron,  "and  then,  by  slow  degrees,  the 
sky  became  alive  with  little  trailing  comets,  some 
tiny  as  stars,  others  larger  than  any  planet,  and 
brighter — the  whole  universe  seemed  to  be  pulsat- 
ing stars — flying,  shooting,  sparkling,  quivering, 
glowing  stars — a  beautiful  sight." 

"Amazing!"  cried  Mr.  Chaworth. 

"And  you  could  watch  it  without  feeling  sure 
that  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end,"  said  Mary. 
"Why,  if  I  had  had  a  glimpse  of  such  a  thing,  I 
should  have " 

"  Put  off  even  the  most  ardent  partner  for  your 
next  dance — ay,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so," 


8o  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

said  her  father.  "  If  the  world  were  actually 
coining  to  an  end,  you  would  feel  that  you  must 
increase  the  tempo  of  the  waltz  or  you  would  not 
be  able  to  get  through  it  in  time.  By  my  soul,  I 
believe  that,  if  the  news  came  during  a  ball  that 
the  world  was  coming  to  an  end,  some  of  you  girls 
would  reserve  a  dance  or  two  on  the  chance  of 
having  as  partner  the  strong  angel  seen  by  St. 
John." 

"And  you — if  there  was  a  Nottingham  squire 
at  hand,  he  would  lose  no  moment  in  trying  to  get 
the  better  of  the  angel  on  the  white  horse  by  selling 
him  another  to  make  up  a  match  pair  to  go  in 
double  harness,"  cried  Mary.  But  at  an  ex- 
clamation of  reproof  from  her  mother,  she  has- 
tened to  ask  her  pardon. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  irreverent,  even  for  the 
sake  of  being  in  the  company  of  papa,"  she  said. 
"And  what  did  you  really  think  of  that  wonder, 
Cousin  Byron?"  she  added,  turning  to  the  boy 
who  had  been  interrupted  in  his  narrative. 

"  Oh,  Byron  had  only  an  idea  that  the  stars  were 
falling  from  the  heaven  to  warn  him  that  he  would 
have  a  tumble  before  morning,"  laughed  the  father. 
"Now,  is  not  that  the  truth,  Byron?" 

Byron  laughed  also,  a  little  uneasily. 

"  I  do  not  say  that,  for  a  moment,  something 
like  that — only  for  a  moment,  mind — afterwards, 
what  I  thought  was,  how  paltry  man  is,  what  a 
humble  place  this  world  of  ours  is!"  he  said. 

"  Please  do  not  say  this  world  of  ours,  my  dear 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  81 

Byron,"  said  Mrs.  Chaworth  gently.  "The  earth 
is  not  man's,  but  God's — the  earth  and  the  fulness 
thereof.  We  are  only  tenants  at  will.  That 
should  be  the  lesson  of  the  stars." 

"  True,  my  dear,  quite  true,"  said  Mr.  Chaworth. 
"  Our  tenure  is  of  the  most  insecure.  Was  not 
Byron  thrown  from  his  horse?  When  that  could 
happen,  where  is  stability  to  be  found?  By  the 
way,  how  did  it  happen,  Byron?" 

Byron  explained  how  the  great  meteor,  breath- 
ing flame  like  a  fiery  flying  dragon,  and  hissing  its 
way  through  the  sky,  ending  in  a  burst  of  celestial 
artillery,  had  been  too  much  for  the  horse's  nerves, 
and  how,  after  carrying  him  with  a  rush  through 
the  trees  that  had  turned  his  coat  into  rags,  it  had 
charged  the  gate  and  thrown  him  among  the 
foliage  that  overhung  the  wall  at  Newstead.  His 
account  of  the  blunderbuss  practice  of  the  butler 
caretaker  did  not  spare  himself ;  but  he  was  care- 
ftil  not  to  touch  upon  his  offended  dignity.  Some- 
how the  attitude  of  sombre  dignity  which  at  night 
seems  to  be  striking,  bears  quite  another  aspect 
when  viewed  over  the  cheerful  expanse  of  a  break- 
fast table,  especially  when  a  girl  with  a  strong 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  is  at  one  side,  and  a  gentle- 
man with  a  turn  for  sarcasm  is  at  the  other.  He 
knew  that  they  would  not  have  laughed  had  he 
told  them  how  he  pulled  the  hall  bell  imperiously, 
and  then  commanded  the  attendance  of  the  ser- 
vants by  the  announcement,  "  I  am  Lord  Byron," 
— no,  they  would  not  have  laughed;  they  would 


82  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

have  laboriously  refrained  from  laughter,  and 
that  would  have  been  still  harder  for  him  to  bear. 
He  spoke  of  the  martial  weapon  with  the  negro 
lips  at  the  window,  and  then  of  the  timely  arrival 
of  that  Mr.  Vince,  and  of  the  armistice  which  had 
been  arranged  by  the  interposition  of  this  tactful 
neutral.  Then  he  paused. 

"You  mentioned  that  you  supped  at  the  cot- 
tage," said  Mr.  Chaworth.  £  Would  it  be  too 
curious  on  my  part  were  I  to  ask  you  why  you 
preferred  the  roadside  to  Vince's  sofa?" 

"  No,  no ;  that  would  be  like  looking  a  gift  horse 
in  the  mouth,"  said  Mary.  "No,  we  should  be 
quite  content  with  the  course  of  circumstances 
which  gave  us  a  chance  of  meeting  and  greeting 
our  cousin,  without  seeking  to  pry  into  first 
causes." 

She  looked  smilingly  toward  Byron,  but  the 
eyes  that  met  hers  were  not  smiling;  they  were 
adoring;  she  was  conscious  of  a  little  shock,  so 
expressive  were  they  of  deep  feeling — more  than 
that — of  rapture.  She  had  a  maiden's  fright  for 
a  moment,  half  a  dozen  quick  heart  beats;  and 
a  quick  indrawing  of  breath.  She  had  never  be- 
fore seen  such  an  expression  in  human  eyes — so 
beautiful — so  full  of  tenderness — of  passionate 
devotion. 

And  then  Byron  looked  down,  his  long  lashes 
falling  on  his  cheeks,  and  the  curls  that  had  been 
on  his  forehead  slipping  down  almost  to  his  eye- 
brows. His  face  was  glowing,  his  sensitive  white 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  83 

skin  being  so  transparent  as  to  show  the  suffusion 
beneath. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  Vince  was  as  sardonic  as 
usual,"  said  Mr.  Chaworth.  "He  would  not  be 
likely  to  miss  the  opportunity  of  affronting  the 
representative  of  the  Byrons.  We  will  not  ask 
you  if  you  found  his  insolence  at  last  unendurable, 
my  boy;  if  you  did,  you  only  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  everyone  who  has  come  in  contact  with 
the  man." 

"  This  is  what  happened,"  said  Byron.  "  I  had 
no  idea  who  the  man  was — how  could  I  have  ever 
heard  his  name?  Indeed,  I  felt  sympathy  for 
him  when  he  told  me  of  his  position;  I  was  pre- 
pared to  make  allowances;  but  he  said  too  much 
for  anyone  to  bear.  How  could  I  have  any  re- 
spect for  my  grand-uncle?  I  did  not  mind  greatly 
what  he  said  about  him,  but  I  could  not  hear  a 
stranger  speak  as  he  did  of  my  own  father;  I 
could  not  hear  him  assure  me  of  the  certainty  of 
my  going  headlong  to  perdition,  because  of  the 
sins  of  my  ancestors.  It  may  have  been  foolish 
of  me,  but  looking  at  him,  seeing  his  curious 
likeness  to  my  father,  I  felt  for  the  moment  that 
I  was  in  the  presence  of  some  power  of  evil, 
something  with  a  horrible  skill  in  spells — I  have 
heard  of  them  in  Scotland,  though  some  people 
say  they  do  not  exist." 

"And  so  you  thought  it  prudent  to  get  away 
while  there  was  yet  time?"  said  Mr.  Chaworth. 
"  You  are  not  to  blame,  and  assuredly  we  here  are 


84  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

not  likely  to  blame  you,  since,  as  Mary  said,  your 
contretemps  in  the  cottage  was  the  means  of 
making  us  acquainted;  of  course,  we  must  have 
come  together  before  long,  being  kinsmen;  but 
for  the  shortening  of  that  space  of  time  we  are 
really  grateful  to  Mr.  Vince.  He  will  find  himself 
run  through  the  vitals  some  day  through  making 
too  free  use  of  that  venomous  tongue  of  his.  He 
speaks  vitriol.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  he  writes 
for  the  reviews  into  the  bargain." 

"So  bad  as  that?"  said  Mary. 

"Perhaps  I  slander  him;  but  that  is  general 
report,"  replied  her  father.  "  He  was  established 
in  the  cottage  by  your  grand-uncle,  and  provided 
with  a  small  competency.  He  is  said  to  be 
educated." 

"  He  took  no  trouble  to  find  out  where  I  went 
when  I  left  him,"  said  Byron.  "  I  had  only  gone 
thirty  or  forty  yards  away  from  the  place  when  I 
turned  to  look  back  on  it.  It  had  disappeared. 
You  should  have  heard  the  way  he  laughed  when 
he  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  heard  what  I  had  to 
say.  You  would  not  think  me  a  fool  for  having 
that  fancy  that  he  was  a  demon." 

"  Perhaps  he  fancied  that  you  were  one  when 
he  heard  all  that  you  had  to  say,"  remarked  Mary 
slyly.  "But  how  could  the  cottage  disappear? 
Is  the  man  really  in  league  with  the  Evil  One?" 

"It  may  only  be  with  the  editor  of  the  Quar- 
terly; but  that  would  be  sufficient  grounds  for  the 
supposition.  Of  the  two,  I  think  that  I  should 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  85 

prefer  the — well,  I  will  not  say  which  monster  of 
the  two,"  said  Mr.  Chaworth. 

It  appeared  that  the  Quarterly  Review  had  taken 
up  a  different  stand  from  that  of  Mr.  Chaworth  in 
discussing  the  Westminster  election. 

And  all  this  time  no  question  was  asked  of  By- 
ron respecting  his  reasons  for  suddenly  leaving 
his  mother's  house,  nor  had  a  word  been  spoken 
on  the  subject  of  his  return  to  Southwell.  He 
somehow  had  a  feeling  that  everyone  suspected 
the  truth.  There  were  very  few  people  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Mrs.  Byron  who  remained  in 
ignorance  of  the  quality  of  her  temper. 

Byron  himself  was  not  greatly  concerned  about 
his  mother ;  he  would  have  been  quite  content  to 
pay  a  long  visit  to  his  kinsfolk;  but  his  mother 
was  greatly  concerned  about  him.  She  arrived 
at  Annesley  Hall  early  in  the  afternoon,  driving 
the  fourteen  miles  from  Southwell  in  a  decayed 
chariot  which  she  had  bought  for  a  trifle  at  a  sale. 
The  horses  were  such  as  might  be  expected  to 
deal  tenderly  with  the  vehicle.  They  were  bor- 
rowed (with  the  coachman)  from  a  friendly 
farmer,  who  looked  forward  to  a  renewal  of  his 
lease  on  easy  terms  when  Mrs.  Byron's  son  should 
enter  on  his  inheritance. 

Could  there  have  been  a  more  devoted  mother? 
She  threw  her  arms  around  her  beloved  boy  and 
held  him  close  to  her  ample  form,  her  beady 
eyes  showing  all  white  while  she  turned  them  to- 
ward the  ceiling — exclamations  soaring  from  the 


86  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

hollows  of  motherly  huskiness  into  a  quavering 
falsetto  of  maternal  emotion!  Her  boy — her  be- 
loved Byron — what  a  night  she  had  passed! 
Would  anyone  be  cruel  enough  to  blame  her? 
Mrs.  Chaworth  knew  what  't  was  to  be  a  mother. 
Only  a  mother  could  understand  a  mother's  feel- 
ings. And  when  Farmer  Fuggle  had  talked  to 
Miller  Rankin  over  the  cap  which  he  had  found 
among  the  trees  at  Ash  Knoll,  they  brought  it  to 
her  in  the  early  morning  to  ask  her  if  she  could 
recognise  it  as  his  lordship's;  and  before  they 
had  left  the  house,  Farmer  Britain  had  come  with 
an  account  of  his  lordship's  horse,  dead,  with  a 
broken  blood-vessel,  at  the  gate — was  it  strange 
that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  distraction?  Again 
Mrs.  Chaworth  was  appealed  to  in  the  sacred  name 
of  mother. 

So  the  detestable  comedy  of  questions  that 
were  not  meant  to  be  answered — of  upturned 
eyes  of  grotesque  gratitude  to  Heaven  and  Mr. 
Chaworth  for  having  relieved  her  horrible  sus- 
pense through  the  agency  of  a  groom  asking  for 
a  portmanteau — of  rapturous,  bubbling  kisses 
sprawling  over  the  unhappy  son's  cheek,  went  on; 
and  the  raucous  accent  of  the  Highland  Gordons 
stamped  with  clattering  feet  from  phrase  to 
phrase,  and  the  small,  fat  face  became  redder  and 
fatter,  not  without  a  suspicion  of  beads  of  dew, 
for  with  such  there  is  no  such  sudorific  as  emotion. 
She  was  an  emotional  gymnast;  an  emotional 
acrobat,  who  turned  and  twisted  and  gyrated  to 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  87 

excess,  believing  that  she  accomplished  all  that 
she  meant  to  accomplish ;  believing  that  she  was 
drawing  tears  from  all  eyes  that  watched  her,  be- 
cause tears  were  in  her  own.  She  was  thoroughly 
sincere — for  the  moment — and  inexhaustibly 
ridiculous. 

Her  son,  struggling  to  be  released  from  her 
sudden  embrace,  knew  that  everyone  in  the 
room  was  inwardly  laughing,  though  not  a  facial 
muscle  moved.  His  mother  would  not  let  him 
stir ;  she  was  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a 
part  of  the  picture.  In  the  group  entitled  The 
Return  of  the  Prodigal,  the  son  is  an  important 
figure.  She  could  not  spare  her  darling  Byron, 
whom  she  had  attacked  the  day  before  with  a 
pair  of  tongs,  and  then  with  the  more  formidable 
weapon,  her  tongue.  Between  tongue  and  tongs 
her  beloved  son,  who,  she  now  thanked  Heaven 
(with  circulating  white  eye-balls)  was  spared  to 
her,  had  had  some  exciting  moments,  but  then 
he  had  the  power  to  fly,  whereas  now  he  was  held 
to  a  billowy  bosom,  and  compelled  to  participate 
in  the  mechanics  of  its  rapture,  as  a  shallop  sways 
in  the  control  of  the  waves. 

At  last  the  tempest  died  away  in  the  usual 
fashion,  with  a  red-faced  sunset,  and  an  occa- 
sional sough  and  sob  of  subsidence,  and  a  quick- 
passing  squall  with  a  smart  rain  of  tears. 

And  still  no  one  at  the  table  so  much  as 
smiled.  Byron  had  never  been  among  such  well- 
bred  people.  He  was  mindful  of  the  "Whisht, 


88  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

wumman! "  and  the  "  Dinna  mak'  a  fule  o'  yersel'," 
with  other  frank  recommendations,  which  had 
been  wont  to  greet  her  emotional  excesses  at 
Aberdeen ;  for  in  Aberdeen  there  was  much  frank- 
ness, and  good  manners  imply  dissimulation. 
He  tried  to  believe  that  the  Chaworths  did  not 
know  all;  that  they  had,  by  some  singular 
fatality,  failed  to  hear  what  everyone  else  had 
heard  respecting  his  mother's  temper;  but  in  a 
moment  the  absence  of  all  expression  on  their 
faces  told  him  that  they  knew  nearly  as  much  as 
he  did.  He  seated  himself  in  a  window,  and 
stared  out  at  the  gardeners  sweeping  up  the 
fallen  leaves,  while  his  mother  was  partaking  of 
cake  and  wine,  flinging  herself,  so  to  speak,  upon 
Mrs.  Chaworth,  with  a  complaint  about  the  diffi- 
culty of  obtaining  servants  in  Southwell,  with 
instances  of  ingratitude  and  insolence,  with 
statistics  of  those  who  had  forsaken  her  service 
within  a  single  month — some  within  a  single  day 
— one  within  an  hour. 

This  was  dreadful;  but  before  his  mother  had 
gone  back  to  her  chariot,  it  was  settled  that  he 
was  to  extend  his  visit  to  Annesley  until  it  was 
time  for  him  to  go  back  to  Cambridge. 

The  whole  house  seemed  to  utter  a  sigh  of  relief 
when  the  foolish  woman  disappeared — a  round, 
red  face  peeping,  with  a  strain  upon  an  apoplectic 
neck,  from  the  window  of  the  vehicle,  and  then 
suddenly  popping  into  a  sort  of  rabbit-hutch 
obscurity. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  89 

In  less  than  half  an  hour,  Mary  Chaworth  had 
made  Byron  forget  that  he  had  a  mother  in 
whose  presence  the  best-intentioned  son  could 
not  be  neutral  when  she  was  determined  to  obtain 
recognition  as  an  absurdity. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SHE  understood  him  from  the  first.  She 
seemed,  by  exercise  of  that  sympathy  which 
with  some  women  is  an  instinct,  to  be  aware  of  all 
that  was  in  his  heart — his  sensitiveness,  his  pride, 
his  passion  to  be  distinct  from  other  people,  and 
not  only  to  be  distinct,  but  to  be  distinguished  as 
well,  his  restlessness,  his  rebellion  against  the  ex- 
isting order  of  things  in  the  world,  if  that  which 
seems  to  be  wholly  without  order  may  be  so 
termed.  She  scarcely  needed  that  he  should 
confess  anything  to  her,  though  the  first  day  that 
they  were  together  he  was  confessing  to  her  as  he 
had  never  confessed  to  anyone  else  in  the  world, 
his  doubts,  his  aspirations  (some  of  them),  his 
hatreds.  She  knew  by  instinct  that  he  had  never 
had  a  chance  of  talking  freely  to  any  woman  be- 
fore— possibly  never  to  any  man  either.  That 
was  why  he  was  so  shy,  and  appeared  to  be  ill  at 
ease  in  the  presence  of  strangers;  she  felt  sure 
that  he  had  once  or  twice  been  momentarily  con- 
fidential, and  had  got  laughed  at  in  consequence, 
and  this  was  quite  true.  She  knew  that  he  had 
never  been  so  happy  in  all  his  life  as  he  was  when 
by  her  side  in  the  garden,  on  horseback,  in  the 
music-room.  She  sometimes  wondered  if  she 
herself  had  ever  been  so  happy. 

90 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  91 

Of  course,  he  was  as  a  brother  to  her — that  was 
the  thought  in  which  this  girl  enwrapped  herself 
as  with  a  robe  of  cold  satin.  How  could  he  be 
otherwise  than  a  brother  to  her,  a  young  brother 
making  the  most  of  his  holidays?  He  was  two 
years  younger  than  she  was,  and  that  meant  (she 
thought)  fully  ten  in  experience  of  the  world.  He 
had  scarcely  met  a  dozen  people  in  the  course  of 
his  life;  he  had  never  met  half  that  number  of 
people  in  his  own  position  in  the  world;  but  she 
had  met  hundreds.  She  had  had  the  experience 
of  refusing  four  offers  of  marriage  within  the  first 
year  of  her  leaving  the  schoolroom;  she  was  the 
sole  heiress  to  three  magnificent  properties.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  that  it  was  possible  for  a 
boy  of  seventeen  to  be  a  man  at  heart  and  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  heart  of  man,  in  thought,  in 
passion.  How  could  it  occur  to  her  that  the  boy 
with  whom  she  was  associating  on  a  footing  of  the 
most  delightful  friendship  was  the  one  boy  of  a 
century?  That  he  knew  by  instinct  more  than 
all  other  men  had  learned  by  experience — more 
than  the  majority  of  men  learned  during  the 
whole  of  their  lives. 

She  could  not  know  this;  more  than  once  she 
was  startled  by  his  giving  expression  to  a  thought 
that  was  very  different  from  any  that  would  be 
likely  to  come  into  a  boy's  mind.  Sometimes  it 
was  a  thought  that  seemed  to  have  been  inspired 
by  a  cynical  observance  of  the  act  of  a  public 
man,  sometimes  one  that  seemed  to  come  from  a 


92  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

mocking  spirit  which  was  never  very  far  away 
from  him.  But  more  often  she  was  startled  by 
the  perfect  beauty  of  an  idea  that  seemed  to  flash 
across  his  mind,  and  be  uttered  by  him  as  though 
he  were  not  responsible  for  it.  A  moment  after 
such  an  utterance  he  would  flush  as  if  he  were 
as  greatly  surprised  as  she  was  at  the  idea  which 
had  come  to  him. 

Once  she  said,  looking  at  him  in  a  puzzled  way : 

"  I  should  like  to  know  if  you  speak  from  mem- 
ory, Cousin  Byron,  or  if  these  thoughts  simply 
come  to  you.  Will  you  tell  me? " 

He  flushed  rosier  than  before,  and  replied,  not 
without  a  stammer: 

"  I  would  not  like  to  do  any  great  man  the  in- 
justice of  suggesting  that  my  ideas  were  taken 
from  him." 

There  was  a  long  and  rather  uneasy  silence  be- 
tween them  before  Mary  said : 

"  I  wonder  how  do  poets  begin." 

He  looked  down  to  the  ground.  They  were 
sitting  on  an  old  Italian  marble  seat  in  the 
shadow  of  a  cedar. 

"How  do  poets  begin?"  he  said.  "I  suppose 
they  begin  as  babies,  like  other  human  beings. 
Was  n't  there  one  of  them  who  talked  of  lisping 
in  numbers?" 

"Yes,  but  how  did  he  lisp  in  numbers?"  said 
she. 

"He  tells  us,  'for  the  numbers  came,'"  replied 
Byron. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  93 

" But  why  did  they  come  to  him?" 

"He  says  they  came — that  was  because  he 
wished  to  disclaim  all  responsibility  for  them. 
He  wished  someone  else  to  be  blamed  for  them." 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  put  an  idea  into  verse, 
Cousin  Byron?" 

He  was  now  like  any  peony.  He  tried  to 
laugh  at  the  very  notion  of  such  a  thing,  but  his 
attempt  was  a  very  bad  one.  He  stammered, 
and  his  stammering  was  to  her  a  confirmation  of 
her  suspicion. 

"You  have  written?  Oh,  tell  me  how  you  be- 
gan," she  cried,  laying  a  hand  upon  one  of  his, 
which  rested  on  the  back  of  their  seat.  He  had 
been  idly  following  with  his  fingers  the  course  of 
the  marble  carving.  "Tell  me  how  you  began, 
you  dear  boy,"  she  said  again,  pressing  his  hand 
affectionately. 

He  turned  to  her  suddenly,  his  face  crimson, 
and  his  eyes  shining.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  his 
voice  had  become  husky.  It  was  her  hand  that 
was  held  by  his  now,  and  she  felt  how  his  was 
trembling — no,  it  was  not  so  much  trembling  as 
it  was  quivering.  It  became  hot  as  fire  over 
her  own  for  an  instant;  then  he  plucked  it  away 
from  hers,  and  turned  away  his  face  from  her. 

"  What! "  she  cried.  "  Have  I  said  anything  to 
hurt  you,  Byron?  Do  not  think  for  a  moment 
that  I  was  mocking  you.  Do  think  that  I  asked 
you  a  question  in  all  seriousness." 

He  turned  to  her  again  with  a  laugh,  but  in  an 


94  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

instant  his  eyes  fell  before  her  surprised  look. 
The  long  lashes  seemed  to  throw  a  still  deeper 
shadow  over  his  cheeks.  His  head  bent  forward 
iirit.il  he  was  able  to  rest  his  chin  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand,  his  elbow  being  on  his  knee. 

"  It  came  to  me  when  you  came  to  me,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "  I  did  not  know  what  it  meant 
until  that  morning  when  you  brought  me  here. 
I  did  not  know  why  at  times  I  should  feel  as  if  I 
were  incapable  of  seeing  things  as  they  are — as 
other  people  see  them — why  I  should  not  stand 
under  the  stars  without  having  a  hundred  fancies 
about  them — every  conceivable  fancy  about  them 
except  that  they  were  stars — why  I  should  never 
be  able  to  stand  looking  at  a  purple  sunset  without 
feeling  that  it  meant  much  more  to  the  world  than 
to  tell  us  that  the  day  was  at  an  end.  Why 
should  I  only  see  something  beneath  everything 
that  I  saw — something  that  it  was  not — tell  me 
that,  Mary?" 

"I  can  tell  you — I  can  tell  you,"  she  said. 
"  But  you  did  not  know? " 

"  I  knew  nothing  except  the  trouble  of  it — the 
torture  of  it,"  he  cried.  "  I  puzzled  myself  daily 
and  nightly  trying  to  find  a  way  of  satisfying  the 
vague  longing  which  I  felt  for — for — I  knew  not 
what.  I  felt  as  if  this  life  were  a  nightmare. 
You  have  had  nightmares  in  which  you  tried  your 
best  to  speak — to  shout,  but  could  not?  I  seemed 
to  be  in  the  thrall  of  such  a  dream.  I  had  a  long- 
ing to  sing  with  the  things  around  me  that  were 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  95 

singing  in  my  ears — to  shout  with  the  shouting 
sea,  but  I  could  not.  Sometimes  I  felt,  when 
in  the  hold  of  that  tumult  of  fancies,  some  drag- 
ging me  in  one  direction,  others  in  another,  that 
I  was  being  made  a  fool  of  by  my  imagination; 
and  ever  that  striving  after  something  vague — 
that  desire  to  grasp  what  was  intangible  as  a 
dream  remained  with  me." 

"  You  did  not  know  that  you  were  a  poet,"  said 
the  girl  gently,  but  her  eyes  were  full  of  light. 
"  Have  you  found  out  the  truth? — I  know  that  it 
is  the  truth." 

"I  found  it  out  only  on  the  morning  of  my 
coming  here,"  he  said.  "I  had  seen  you,  I  had 
talked  with  you.  I  had  opened  the  window, 
after  passing  through  the  strange  experiences  of 
that  night.  In  a  moment  I  found  myself  in  the 
midst  of  these  phantom  fancies,  and,  as  before, 
that  overwhelming  desire — it  had  never  before 
seemed  to  be  the  passion  that  I  found  it  at  that 
time — a  passion  to  sing  what  I  felt — to  join  in  the 
morning  song  of  Nature,  which  made  the  air 
pulsate  with  passion.  The  whole  world  had  be- 
come one  song  to  me  as  I  knelt  at  my  window ; 
everything  was  singing  what  it  felt,  while  I — I 
felt,  but  failed  to  sing,  and  yet  I  knew  that  I  was 
but  part  of  that  great  soul  of  Nature  which  was 
living  beneath  my  eyes  and  in  my  ears.  I  felt. 
I  do  not  know  how  I  found  myself  at  the  table; 
but  I  was  at  the  table  with  a  pen  in  my  hand.  I 
did  not  know  what  words  were  coming.  I  felt 


96  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

like  an  interpreter  who  writes  down  what  some- 
one says  in  a  language  which  he  understands,  but 
does  not  know  what  the  next  word  will  be.  What 
I  wrote  did  not  seem  to  come  from  myself,  but  I 
had  the  sensation  of  singing — singing — singing  all 
that  I  felt,  and  for  the  first  time  I  knew  that  this 
was  what  I  had  striven  after — yearned  after  so 
vaguely — to  sing.  And  when  I  had  sung  I  felt 
satisfied — at  last — at  last.  I  threw  myself  on  my 
bed  and  slept — satisfied  for  the  first  time — I  had 
penetrated  the  mystery." 

His  face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  were  flashing. 
He  had  sprung  from  his  seat,  and  was  steadying 
himself  on  his  feet  by  grasping  the  carved  top  of 
the  marble  bench. 

And  the  girl  was  equally  carried  away.  Her 
face,  too,  was  roseate ;  and  her  eyes  were  bright, 
but  with  the  tears  that  suffused  them.  Her 
hands  were  clasped,  her  lips  were  parted;  she 
was  breathing  rapidly.  The  words  which  she 
spoke  she  spoke  in  a  whisper  that  had  something 
of  awe  in  it. 

"  Poet — poet! "  she  said.  "  I  knew  it  long  ago. 
How  could  anyone  who  had  seen  you — known 
you  for  a  day — fail  to  perceive  the  truth?" 

"  But  no  one  has  ever  known  me — you  are  the 
only  one  to  whom  I  could  speak — who  would  not 
think  me  a  fool,"  said  he.  "  It  was  my  seeing  you 
that  saved  me.  You  were  kind,  sympathetic. 
You  understood,  and  you  understand  more  than 
I  have  told  you.  That  is  what  I  felt  when  I 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  97 

wrote.  I  felt  that  I  should  never  again  be  alone 
in  the  world  as  I  had  been  up  to  that  moment; 
and  that  was  the  first  song  that  I  sang.  It 
should  have  been  altogether  a  song  of  joy;  but 
somehow,  when  I  read  it  later  in  the  day,  I  found 
that  there  was  a  note  of  sadness  in  it.  Why 
should  .that  plaintive  note  creep  into  it?  There 
was  no  sad  thought  in  my  heart.  How  could 
there  be  any,  unless — unless — 

He  seated  himself  once  more,  and  now  his  eyes 
were  turned  away  from  her. 

"You  will  let  me  read  it?"  she  said.  "It  is  a 
right  that  you  cannot  deny.  Do  you  not  think 
that  I  am  proud  of  it?" 

He  laughed  uneasily. 

"  Of  course  you  are  to  read  it,"  he  said.  "  You 
may  be  proud  of  it.  Somehow,  I  cannot  think 
of  it  as  a  father  does  of  his  first-born.  I  am 
proud,  not  of  it,  but  of  you — proud  beyond 
measure  of  having  found  such  a  one  as  you  to 
inspire  me.  I  think  that  there  are  such  subtle 
forces  in  nature  that  the  very  act  of  our  meeting 
may  have  brought  into  instantaneous  being  a 
new  soul,  whose  influence  we  may  both  feel  so 
long  as  we  live.  How  is  a  soul  born?  May  it 
not  be  by  the  commingling  of  two  souls  that 
think  together  and  feel  together?  I  love  to  think 
that  certain  acts,  incidents,  occurrences,  may  be 
represented  by  souls  which  are  ever  about  us,  in- 
fluencing us  for  good  or  evil.  Why  should  not 
my  memory  be  in  itself  a  living  soul?  Dreams — 


98  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

who  can  tell  us  what  dreams  are — how  they  come 
to  us?  Why  may  we  not  think  of  them  as  the 
fantastic  masques  played  by  those  spirits  which 
are  visible  only  to  us  when  sleep  has  come,  and 
we  have  been  borne  to  another  world,  where  the 
souls  of  our  acts — nay,  the  souls  of  our  very 
thoughts — have  a  form?  ...  I  am.  carried 
away.  All  that  I  meant  to  say  is  that  you  and  I 
have  come  together,  and  that — that — what  am  I 
to  say?" 

"That  the  result  is  that  soul  which  is  a  poem," 
said  she.  "A  poem  is  immortal  if  it  has  a  soul 
within  it.  I  think  that  yours  will  have  a  germ  of 
that  immortality  about  it,  Byron." 

"  I  have  read  it  every  day,  and  I  tell  you  that 
I  have  not  yet  thought  of  it,  except  as  something 
impersonal,"  said  he.  "I  think  I  can  criticise  it 
as  if  I  had  not  held  the  pen  that  wrote  it.  It  is 
not  a  thing  to  be  praised;  it  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
blamed;  but  it  is  Something.  It  is  a  distinct 
something — a  distinct  voice.  It  is  not  loud,  it  is 
not  deep,  it  may  travel  no  distance;  it  may  be 
lost  in  the  empty  air  before  it  falls  upon  any  ear ; 
but,  believe  me,  it  is  a  voice,  Mary;  it  is  not 
merely  a  hollow  echo  of  the  voice  of  another. 
There!  I  have  talked  enough  about  it." 

"You  will  bring  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "You 
will  read  it  to  me,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"It  is  scarce  worth  remembering,"  said  he. 
"  But  you  shall  have  it.  It  shall  go  back  to  you, 
my  Mary." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  99 

"Back  to  me?" 

"Back  to  you.  The  stars  are  given  to  the 
night  by  the  sea,  but  when  the  blank  night  has 
been  made  glad  with  starlight,  the  stars  return 
unto  the  sea  again.  You  shall  have  the  song 
which.you  lent  me." 

He  had  risen  when  speaking,  and  when  he  had 
spoken  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  hand,  which 
was  resting  on  the  back  of  the  seat — whiter  than 
the  carved  marble.  He  walked  away  without 
another  word. 

The  girl  felt  greatly  moved.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  been  talking,  not  with  a  youth  who 
was  some  years  younger  than  herself,  but  with  a 
man  who  had  had  experience  of  life — everything 
that  made  up  life.  He  had  left  her  glowing  in 
the  thought  that  she  had  brought  to  the  surface 
that  spring  of  poetry  which  had  previously  been 
welling  up  unseen  and  unsuspected  even  by  him- 
self in  his  nature.  It  was  she  who  had  given  him 
the  impulse  for  which  he  was  waiting.  If  she  had 
not  come  to  him  he  might  have  continued  silent, 
perplexed  by  those  vague  yearnings  of  which  he 
had  spoken,  not  knowing  what  they  meant  or  how 
they  would  be  satisfied. 

This  thought  sent  a  delightful  glow  through 
every  part  of  her  body — a  glow  of  pride — she 
thought  it  was — pride  and  affection.  She  be- 
lieved that  the  pleasure  which  she  felt  arose  from 
the  thought  that  he  was  one  of  the  household  to 
which  she  belonged — her  kinsman.  She  was  proud 


ioo  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

of  herself  also,  in  that  she  had  persisted  in  stop- 
ping the  coach  and  carrying  him.  with  her  to 
Annesley  Hall.  She  had  often  been  present  when 
her  father  and  some  of  their  neighbours  had 
talked  about  the  young  Lord  Byron.  She  had 
observed  the  head-shakings  of  the  men  when  they 
mentioned  the  name  of  his  mother.  She  had  seen 
the  mother  in  London ,  and  therefore  she  under- 
stood quite  well  what  their  head-shakings  meant. 
She  had  seen  the  way  the  men  cast  their  eyes  up 
to  heaven,  raising  hopeless  hands  in  the  same 
direction,  when  the  name  of  his  father  was  men- 
tioned. She  had  heard  as  much  about  his  father 
as  enabled  her  to  understand  why  the  attitude  of 
people  who  had  also  known  him  should  be  expres- 
sive of  despair.  She  had  seen  the  boy  with  the 
large  eyes  and  the  auburn  curls  during  the  visit 
which  she  and  her  mother  had  paid  to  Mrs.  Byron, 
and  she  had  pitied  him,  having  seen  his  mother. 
She  had  often  wondered  what  would  be  the  future 
of  this  youth  with  a  title,  the  mention  of  the  name 
of  whose  parents  had  compelled  that  head-shak- 
ing and  eye-raising.  She  had  pitied  him  with  all 
her  heart,  following  the  lead  of  her  mother  in  this 
respect.  She  knew  that  he  would  need  all  the 
sympathy  which  she  could  offer  him;  and  then 
that  fortunate  moment  came  when  she  found 
herself  able  to  be  his  friend;  and  the  result — he 
had  told  her  what  was  the  result  of  her  friendli- 
ness. He  had  found  out  that  he  was  a  poet,  and 
she  was  proud  of  having  done  this.  She  had  not 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  101 

made  him  a  poet,  but  she  had  made  him  know 
that  he  was  one. 

Her  eyes  had  been  full  of  tears  when  he  told  her 
the  story ;  and  now  those  tears  began  to  fall  when 
she  thought  of  what  he  must  have  suffered,  never 
having-  known  that  sympathy  which  her  instinct 
told  her  meant  life  to  such  a  temperament  as  his. 
She  had  heard  that  he  was  of  a  peculiar  disposi- 
tion. The  son  of  one  of  the  Chaworths'  neigh- 
bours had  been  at  Harrow-on-the-Hill  for  three 
terms  while  Byron  was  there,  and  he  had  brought 
home  a  schoolboy's  report  of  his  schoolfellow. 
He  had  been  a  milksop  when  he  first  went  to 
school,  but  he  had  greatly  improved  until,  toward 
the  end  of  his  third  term,  he  was  almost  as  ready 
as  the  most  pugnacious  boy  in  his  house  to  enter 
into  a  fight  with  fists  on  any  point  of  offended 
honour;  in  addition,  he  had  proved,  more  than 
once,  that  he  was  highly  gifted  as  an  organiser  of 
insubordination;  and  he  could  swim — oh,  yes, 
he  certainly  could  swim.  Of  course,  it  could  not 
be  expected  that  he  should  be  a  cricketer,  or  that 
he  should  do  anything  in  the  fives-court ;  but  that 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  wish  to  be  let  alone 
when  these  games  were  going  on.  It  was  a  pity, 
the  narrator  thought,  that  a  fellow  who  had  so 
much  in  him  as  to  be  able  to  box  in  spite  of  his 
unsteadiness  on  his  pins,  should  have  taken  to 
wandering  about  the  fields  alone,  or  lying  under 
a  tree,  doing  absolutely  nothing  but  thinking. 
The  boy  who  spent  his  time  thinking,  when  he 


102  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

might  have  been  boxing,  could,  in  his  opinion, 
come  to  no  good. 

Mary  had  heard  something  of  this  report,  and 
she  felt  that  she  was  grossly  astray  in  sympa- 
thising with  young  Byron.  But  now  she  knew 
that  she  was  justified  in  her  sympathy.  A  poet 
among  a  pack  of  young  barbarians  was  like  an 
Italian  greyhound  in  a  kennel  of  foxhounds,  like 
a  linnet  in  a  rookery.  She  could  understand 
how  it  was  that  he  found  himself  wandering 
away  from  the  other  boys,  idling  under  trees, 
where  only  the  faint  sound  of  the  shouts  of  the 
playing  fields  could  be  heard;  his  schoolmates 
could  not  understand  it,  however,  nor,  for  that 
matter,  could  Byron  himself.  He  had,  she  could 
see,  fought  manfully  to  be  a  commonplace  school- 
boy like  the  rest,  but  he  had  been  born  a  poet, 
and  he  could  no  more  shake  himself  free  from  his 
destiny  than  a  swallow  can  avoid  skimming 
through  the  hollows  of  the  clouds,  although  it 
may  have  been  hatched  in  the  eaves  of  a  hen- 
house. 

But  she  understood,  and  felt  a  glow  of  pleasure 
while  she  thought: 

"  It  was  through  me  that  the  mystery  was  re- 
vealed to  him." 


CHAPTER  IX 

BYRON  had  never  before  in  his  life  known 
such  gladness  as  he  felt  when  he  mounted 
the  horse  which  he  had  been  riding  since  he  had 
come  to  Annesley,  and  sent  it  at  a  gallop  across 
the  open  country  that  lay  outside  the  spacious 
grounds  that  surrounded  the  Hall.  He  now  felt 
as  if  he  had  no  longing  for  anything,  as  if  he  had 
attained  to  the  summit  of  his  desire.  He  was 
young  enough  and  fresh  enough  to  feel  that,  hav- 
ing reached  the  summit  of  his  desire,  there  was 
no  more  climbing  to  be  done,  or  that  the  horizon 
of  his  hopes  was  only  widened  when  he  stood  on 
that  high  peak. 

What  more  could  he  hope  for  in  the  world  than 
this  which  he  had  reached — this  consciousness 
that  he  was  a  poet,  and  that  he  loved  the  only 
girl  in  the  world  who  was  worthy  of  being  loved? 
He  had  loved  her  from  the  first.  If  he  had  ever 
before  fancied  that  he  was  in  love — and  he  had 
had  one  or  two  such  fancies — he  now  knew  that  it 
had  only  been  because  there  was  something  that 
pertained  to  Mary  Chaworth  in  each  of  his  loves. 
They  were  like  pale  shadows  of  her;  they  were 
what  the  perfume  of  the  rose  is  to  the  rose  itself. 
One  becomes  aware,  walking  on  the  confines  of  a 
garden,  of  a  delicate  scent  softening  the  air,  and 

103 


104  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

one  breathes  of  the  scent  with  delight ;  and  then 
one  suddenly  comes  upon  the  glory  of  the  rose. 
He  had  been  on  the  confines  of  many  a  rose- 
garden,  and  the  perfume  had  pleased  him;  but 
until  now  he  had  never  seen  the  glory  of  the  rose. 

Love  had  entered  into  his  life  at  the  same 
moment  that  that  other  mystery  had  been  revealed 
to  him — it  must  have  been  at  the  very  moment, 
for  he  found  it  impossible  to  say  whether  the 
poetry  came  to  him  as  the  result  of  his  loving, 
or  if  he  loved  because  he  had  sung.  Yes,  it  was 
certain  that  both  mysteries  had  been  revealed  to 
him  at  the  one  moment — or  was  it  that  the  two 
were  one;  and,  if  they  were,  was  he  to  assume 
that,  having  told  her  of  the  one,  there  was  no  need 
for  him  to  say  a  word  of  the  other? 

Surely  she  knew  that  he  loved  her,  and  could 
he  doubt  that  she  returned  his  love?  Could  any- 
one doubt  that  it  was  the  instinct  of  love — the 
divinity  in  love  that  had  led  her  to  the  spot  where 
he  lay  asleep?  It  was  the  romance  of  Cymon  and 
Iphigenia  reversed;  it  was  the  maiden  who  had 
come  upon  the  sleeping  swain ;  and  the  result  was 
the  same.  He  had  not  failed  to  see  the  glistening 
of  her  eyes  while  he  was  telling  her  his  story.  He 
did  not  want  any  further  sign  than  this.  She 
had  been  led  to  him  by  love.  She  had  spoken  to 
him  in  a  voice  that  was  an  echo  of  his  own,  and 
the  tears  of  love  had  been  in  her  eyes. 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  he  felt  that  he  had 
attained  the  summit  of  happiness?  Had  life 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  105 

anything  better  to  offer  him  than  this  exhilaration 
—this  sense  of  exaltation — of  a  calm  passion — of 
perfect  peace?  He  looked  around  on  the  world 
as  if  it  was  the  world  that  he  had  conquered. 
But,  indeed,  all  that  he  desired  at  that  moment 
was  that  the  world  could  share  his  happiness. 
It  was  too  much  for  one  human  being  to  contain. 
He  had  enough  for  all  the  world. 

He  did  not  return  until  late  in  the  evening. 
Mary  and  he  were  to  sup  alone  this  evening ;  her 
father  and  mother  were  dining  with  the  Bram- 
leys  at  Colwick,  and  would  not  return  until 
night.  He  had  brought  his  verses  down  from 
his  room,  and  had  left  the  manuscript  on  a  jasper 
pedestal  bearing  a  gilt  figure  of  Diana  with  her 
quiver,  in  the  great  square  hall.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hall  there  was  a  companion  pedestal, 
but  of  onyx,  carrying  a  figure  of  the  poised  Mer- 
cury on  his  ball.  Each  pedestal  stood  at  the  side 
of  the  frame  of  a  life-sized  picture ;  the  Diana  was 
beneath  a  portrait  by  Gainsborough  of  a  gentle- 
man in  the  uniform  of  a  deputy  lieutenant,  the 
Mercury  was  beneath  that  of  a  graceful  young 
woman  by  Thornhill.  Byron  knew  that  Mary 
would  ask  him  to  keep  his  promise  in  regard  to 
the  reading  the  verses  to  her ;  but  he  did  not  like 
to  show  himself  too  ready  to  put  them  into  her 
hand.  Thus  he  had  refrained  from  keeping  the 
manuscript  in  his  pocket;  but  he  had  placed  it 
where  he  could  find  it  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Climbing  the  long  staircase  gave  him  some  trouble. 


io6  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

All  this  evening  he  felt  shy  and  self-conscious, 
though  it  was  delightful  to  be  left  alone  with  her ; 
and,  indeed,  Mary  herself  seemed  not  quite  at 
ease.  There  was  a  certain  amount  of  constraint 
in  their  conversation,  especially  when  the  ser- 
vants were  in  the  room.  She  asked  him  how  he 
had  enjoyed  his  ride,  if  his  horse  had  gone  well, 
and  if  he  had  tried  it  again  upon  any  of  the 
fences.  He  replied  in  the  baldest  fashion,  and 
praised  the  plums.  They  were  on  his  plate  before 
him,  and  he  was  in  a  position  to  judge  of  their 
appearance  as  well  as  their  flavour,  for  he  scarcely 
raised  his  eyes  from  where  they  lay.  He  pre- 
ferred them  to  peaches,  he  affirmed,  and  when  she 
asked  him  why,  he  said  that  they  were  like 
negresses ;  peaches  were  like — he  lost  his  courage, 
for  the  butler  was  still  in  the  room,  and  he 
thought  that  perhaps  the  man  might  fancy  that 
he  was  going  too  far  in  the  absence  of  the  elders 
if  he  had  said  what  was  in  his  mind  in  regard  to 
the  complexion  of  the  peaches. 

Mary  gave  a  laugh  and  said : 

"Yes,  I  agree  with  you;  but  why  should  you 
find  it  pleasanter  to  eat  a  mulatto  plum  than  a 
Circassian  peach?" 

" It  is  more  natural,  is  it  not?"  said  he. 

"  It  is  the  difference  between  black-faced  mut- 
ton and  white.  I  suppose  you  had  magnificent 
mutton  in  Scotland.  Papa  thinks  that  the 
Welsh  is  not  to  be  compared  to  the  Highland." 

So  they  talked  of  all  that  was  commonplace,  as 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  107 

people  do  who  have  a  great  deal  to  talk  about 
that  is  not  commonplace.  And  even  when  they 
went  together  into  one  of  the  drawing-rooms,  she 
did  not  at  once  spring  to  the  topic  that  was  near- 
est her  heart,  and  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the 
promise  that  he  had  given  her.  The  piano  was 
open,  and  on  the  stand  between  the  silver  candle- 
sticks there  stood  open  a  book  of  songs,  which  had 
recently  been  published,  and  was  to  be  found  on 
a  good  many  pianos  throughout  the  kingdom. 
A  patriotic  young  Irishman,  named  Thomas 
Moore,  had  collected  some  of  the  beautiful  melo- 
dies of  his  native  land,  and  had  wedded  them  to 
verses  of  his  own  writing,  the  result  being  a  much 
happier  union  than  that  which  had  just  been 
brought  about  between  the  two  islands. 

"  I  have  found  the  most  glorious  song  in  the 
book,"  she  cried,  when  he  had  strayed  to  the 
piano  and  begun  listlessly  to  turn  over  the  pages 
of  the  music  book.  "  I  must  sing  it  to  you  to- 
night. You  are  sure  to  like  it.  It  might  have 
been  written  by  the  Genius  of  Patriotism.  There 
is  the  swing  of  a  broadsword  in  every  line;  and 
now  and  again  you  may  perceive  the  glitter  of 
the  steel  in  the  sunlight  as  it  makes  its  clean  cut." 

"Mr.  Moore's  verses  are  never  wanting  in 
glitter,  that  is  their  quality,"  said  Byron.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  he  is  not  only  the  collector 
of  melodies,  but  the  discoverer  of  melody  as 
well." 

"I  only  wish  I  could  do  justice  to  this  one," 


io8  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

said  she.  "I  think  it  is  an  appropriate  choice 
to-night,  for  it  is  called  The  Minstrel  Boy." 

He  gave  a  startled  flush,  and  then  a  laugh. 

"Sing  it  to  me,  Mary,"  he  whispered. 

She  struck  a  chord,  and  then  the  melody  of  the 
Irish  race  awoke,  with  its  wild  flashes  of  enthus- 
iasm, alternating  with  its  soft  melancholy,  its 
bursting  bars  of  hopefulness,  its  passionate  de- 
spair— the  history  of  the  land  of  its  birth.  A 
lost  cause  wails  through  its  music,  and  its  glints 
of  brightness  are  like  the  glints  of  sunlight  that 
sweep  through  its  sorrowful  clouds,  showing  the 
emerald  patches  on  the  Irish  mountain  for  a 
moment  only. 

"Listen  to  this,"  said  Mary  Chaworth. 

The  minstrel  boy  to  the  war  is  gone ; 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you  '11  find  him. 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him. 
"Land  of  Song,"  said  the  warrior  bard, 

"Though  all  the  world  betray  thee, 
One  sword  at  least  thy  rights  shall  guard, 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee." 

The  minstrel  fell,  but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  that  proud  soul  under. 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder; 
And  said,  "No  chain  shall  sully  thee, 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery! 
Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free, 

They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery!" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  109 

The  girl  ended,  not  with  the  crash  of  the  last 
battle,  not  with  the  melancholy  of  minor  chords, 
but  with  a  note  of  victory — the  rallying  trumpet 
music  of  a  triumph. 

"That  is  for  you,  my  dear  Cousin  Byron,"  she 
cried."  "  That  song  is  for  you,  my  poor  minstrel, 
going  out  to  war  with  the  world  with  a  sword  that 
you  have  not  yet  learned  to  wield,  but  that  you 
will  surely  wield  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  Your 
sword  and  your  harp  will  ever  be  on  the  side  of 
liberty,  Byron,  whatever  may  happen,  promise 
me  that,  dear." 

The  tears  that  had  been  in  her  voice  were  now 
shining  in  her  eyes.  It  was  not  with  tears  that 
his  eyes  were  flashing.  He  felt  like  the  young 
knight  whose  sword  has  just  been  bound  to  his 
thigh  by  the  lady  of  his  choice.  What  could  he 
not  achieve  when  wearing  the  favour  of  such  a 
lady  as  this,  who  was  now  standing  before  him 
with  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  her  eyes  look- 
ing down  into  his,  full  of  earnestness,  and  the 
tears  which  are  the  earnest  of  an  inheritance  of 
tenderness? 

"  I  swear  it  to  you,  Mary,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
put  the  sword  into  my  hand,  and  I  will  use  it 
against  your  enemies — all  the  enemies  that  would 
assail  you  and  whatever  you  hold  dear.  It  will 
go  hard  with  us  if  we  do  not  succeed  in  crushing 
at  least  some  of  them.  Trust  me,  Mary,  you 
may  trust  me." 

"Indeed,  I  will   always   trust   you,    whatever 


1 10  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

may  happen,  and  a  great  deal  will  happen  that 
will  be  difficult  to  bear,"  she  said,  still  looking 
into  his  face  through  her  overflowing  eyes. 

Suddenly  her  hands  dropped  from  his  shoulders, 
she  turned  away  from  him  with  a  quick  movement, 
almost  spasmodic.  She  felt  sure  that  he  heard 
her  stifle  a  sigh.  Then  she  turned  to  him  quickly 
again,  and  her  mood  of  melancholy  had  changed 
instantaneously,  surprisingly. 

"Your  promise — your  promise,  Byron,"  she 
said  in  a  breath. 

"  I  have  given  you  my  promise,  and  I  mean  to 
keep  it,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  cried  almost 
petulantly.  "I  mean  the  promise  you  gave  me 
in  the  garden — I  have  been  thinking  about  it  ever 
since — the  poem — you  have  brought  it  to  me? " 

He  had  actually  forgotten  for  the  time  that  he 
had  written  a  poem.  And  even  now,  when  he 
remembered  it,  it  seemed  a  very  small  thing  com- 
pared with  the  issues  of  the  previous  ten  minutes. 
When  the  young  knight  has  had  his  hand  on  the 
grip  of  his  sword,  he  is  not  to  be  blamed  if  he  has 
left  his  lute  still  hanging  on  the  willow. 

"  I  did  not  forget  that  promise ;  but  the  other 
is  so  much  greater,"  said  he.  "I  brought  the 
paper  down  with  me,  and  left  it  in  the  hall.  I 
shall  fetch  it  if  you  wish,  but  how  can  you  read 
it  while  the  echoes  of  that  wonderful  song  have 
scarcely  faded  away?  It  will  seem  very  thin 
and  feeble  in  comparison." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  1 1 1 

"Quick,  quick,"  she  said,  pointing  toward  the 
door,  and  smiling.  "  Nay,  if  you  are  fearful  for 
the  ghostly  echoes  of  The  Minstrel,  I  will  go  with 
you,  and  we  will  read  it  together  in  the  hall." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  they  left  the 
room  together.  There  was  a  short  passage  be- 
tween the  drawing-room  and  the  hall.  It  was  too 
short  to  have  a  light  of  its  own.  Seeing  that  the 
lamps  of  the  hall  were  burning  dim,  they  left 
the  drawing-room  door  open,  so  that  the  il- 
lumination from  the  candles  in  the  chandelier 
blazed  through  the  passage.  Before  they  had 
taken  half  a  dozen  steps  toward  the  hall,  there 
arose  behind  them  the  sound  of  the  shaking  of  the 
drawing-room  windows  in  their  frames,  as  though 
struck  by  a  strong  gust  of  wind. 

They  stopped,  startled  by  the  sound. 

"  The  door! "  cried  Mary,  springing  back  to  pre- 
vent the  slamming  of  the  door  which  they  had 
left  widely  ajar ;  she  had  seen  it  begin  to  swing,  but 
she  was  too  late  to  hold  it  back.  It  slammed  with 
a  tremendous  crash,  and  a  clanging  of  glass  and 
old  china  in  the  many  cabinets  along  the  walls  of 
the  room. 

Mary  gave  an  exclamation  of  alarm,  but  before 
the  clink  of  the  glass  had  ceased,  there  came  from 
the  hall  the  sound  as  of  the  tearing  away  of  the 
panelling,  and  this  was  followed  by  a  dull  crash 
that  shook  the  house.  A  whirl  of  dust  went  in 
their  faces,  and  the  place  was  plunged  in.  dark- 
ness, the  lamps  having  been  blown  out,  so  that 


ii2  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

for  some  time  neither  Mary  nor  Byron  could  know 
what  had  happened. 

Then  came  the  voices  of  servants  from  across 
the  hall,  the  men  shouting  back  for  candles,  the 
maids'  shrill  and  affrighted,  the  butler  only  cry- 
ing out,  not  so  loud  as  to  be  disrespectful,  but 
still,  with  a  force  that  suggested  the  stables: 

"Are  you  there,  my  lord?  Are  you  safe,  Miss 
Mary?  Lord  ha'  mercy!  Did  I  hear  your  voice, 
my  lord?  Be  quiet,  you  unmannerly  crew  behind 
there!  I  believe  't  is  his  lordship's  voice." 

"  All  right,  Mayne,"  Byron  sang  out.  "  We  are 
all  right  here — what  has  happened — can  you  see? " 

"The  ceiling  has  fallen,  my  lord — leastaways, 
it  sounded  like  it,"  said  the  butler.  "  Thank  God, 
Miss  Mary  was  not  under  it!  They  're  fetching 
candles,  my  lord!  Phew!  what  a  dust!" 

Mary  had  hastened  back  to  the  drawing-room 
to  get  lights;  she  could  see  that  all  the  candles 
had  not  been  extinguished  by  that. amazing  gust. 
But  Byron  was  groping  his  way  into  the  hall 
through  the  dust  and  debris. 

All  at  once  the  place  was  flooded  with  lights 
from  both  sides.  The  servants  brought  lamps, 
and  Mary  was  carrying  a  silver  candelabrum. 
The  lights  went  in  streams  through  an  atmosphere 
of  dust  as  if  it  had  been  one  of  fog.  With  candles 
held  aloft  it  was  possible  within  a  minute  to  see 
what  had  happened.  The  full-length  portrait  by 
Gainsborough  which  had  been  hanging  in  the  re- 
cess at  one  side  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs  had 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  113 

fallen  on  the  floor,  the  massive  wooden  frame 
tearing  away  a  portion  of  the  oak  panel  of  the  wall 
in  its  descent,  and  overturning  the  jasper  pedestal 
with  its  gilt  figure.  There  the  great  picture  lay 
face  downward,  one  edge  of  the  frame  resting 
where  it  had  swerved  in  falling,  against  the  oak 
banisters  a  few  feet  from  the  floor ;  while  the  light 
was  shining  upon  the  ormolu  of  the  beautiful  Diana, 
lying  where  it  had  tumbled  several  yards  away. 

Jammed  between  the  frame  and  the  jasper 
pedestal  was  the  manuscript  which  Byron  had 
hidden  behind  the  figure  some  hours  previously. 

"  'T  was  God's  mercy  that  you  were  sitting 
elsewhere,  miss,  and  my  lord,  too,"  was  the  com- 
ment of  the  butler.  They  were  standing  about  the 
fallen  picture,  servants  of  all  degrees,  disregard- 
ing precedence  under  the  strain  of  the  catastrophe, 
holding  candles  above  their  heads  like  torches; 
even  Miss  Chaworth  had  not  abandoned  her 
candelabrum.  They  stood  as  people  stand  around 
the  body  of  a  man  who  has  been  killed  by  acci- 
dent. They  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  learn  if  he 
were  quite  dead.  All  the  rest  of  the  hall  was  in 
gloom.  The  butler  ordered  one  of  the  footmen 
to  re-light  the  lamps;  this  was  when  the  effects 
of  the  panic  were  beginning  to  wear  off.  Other 
men  were  told  to  set  the  place  in  order.  Byron 
rescued  his  poem. 

"  What  a  gust  that  was — I  never  saw  the  like ! 
'T  was  the  gust  beyond  doubt  that  did  the  mis- 
chief, if  we  only  knew  how,"  said  the  housekeeper. 

8 


ii4  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"A  gust!  'Twas  the  hurricane  of  a  moment; 
something  like  a  flash  of  lightning  in  the  form  of 
a  hurricane,  if  I  'm  not  speaking  too  bold,"  said 
the  butler. 

"I  saw  no  lightning,  nor  thunder  whatsoever, 
though  there  might  have  been  a  peal  that  got  lost 
in  the  crash  of  the  picture,"  said  the  housekeeper. 

"  I  did  n't  presume  to  say  there  was  lightning, 
only  that  the  gust  had  the  quickness  of  lightning 
about  it,  and  the  blast  of  a  hurricane  as  well," 
replied  the  butler.  He  felt  that  the  woman  was 
too  ready  to  quibble.  Was  this  a  moment  for 
quibbling? 

"We  had  just  left  the  drawing-room  on  our 
way  here;  it  was  the  drawing-room  door  that 
slammed,  and  the  next  moment  came  the  crash 
of  the  picture,"  said  Miss  Chaworth.  "  I  suppose 
the  slamming  of  the  door  had  something  to  do 
with  the  falling  of  the  picture." 

One  of  the  men  was  examining  the  picture- 
chain  and  another  was  peering  up  at  the  top  of 
the  oak  panel  where  the  hook  was.  The  hook 
was  still  in  its  place,  and  the  chain  was  intact. 
What  had  given  way  was  one  of  the  rings  that  had 
been  screwed  into  the  side  of  the  great  frame  itself. 
It  appeared  likely  that  the  wood  had  become 
slightly  rotten  about  the  ring,  so  that  the  picture 
had  been  for,  perhaps,  a  long  time  hanging  by  a 
very  shaky  screw,  which  at  last  gave  way  through 
the  tremor  caused  by  the  violent  slamming  of  the 
door. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  115 

Happily  no  damage  was  done  that  could  not 
be  easily  repaired ;  the  moulding  of  the  oak  panel 
was  broken  away  where  the  frame  had  slipped  a 
foot  or  two  down  the  wall  before  falling  forward, 
and  the  frame  itself  had  a  splinter  or  two  knocked 
off  dne  of  its  mouldings ;  this  was  the  sum  of  the 
damage. 

"'Twas  God's  mercy,"  began  the  butler  once 
more;  he  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  necessary 
for  him  to  do  his  best  for  the  honour  of  the  house 
to  prevent  his  lordship  from  going  away  with  the 
idea  that  the  incident  was  trivial ;  but  his  lordship 
laughed  and  followed  Miss  Chaworth,  a  footman 
carrying  her  candelabrum,  back  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

Miss  Chaworth  was  not  smiling. 

"'Twas  God's  mercy,"  said  Byron,  imitating 
the  voice  of  the  butler. 

"Was  it?"  said  the  girl.  "I  am  not  sure.  It 
was  strange,  terribly  strange!  You  heard  that 
gust  which  came  through  the  window  and  shook 
the  whole  house? " 

"It  has  not  been  repeated;  the  night  is  quite 
still  now,"  said  he. 

"That  is  what  makes  it  so  strange,"  said  she. 
"  The  night  was  never  otherwise  than  still.  That 
awful  gust  blew  out  of  a  perfectly  calm  sky. 
Unearthly!  I  think  it  was  unearthly." 

He  saw  that  she  was  pale,  and  when  he  laid  his 
hand  on  hers  he  felt  that  it  was  trembling. 

"Dear  Mary,  whatever  danger  there  was  it  is 


n6  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

over  now,"  he  said.  "Why  should  you  be  so 
anxious  now?" 

"Unearthly — I  felt  it,"  she  said,  not  looking  at 
him,  but  into  vacancy.  "  I  tell  you  I  felt  it  pass- 
ing me  when  I  stood  in  the  passage  for  that 
moment — it  fled  past  me — something." 

"The  wind — I  felt  it  too — when  the  door 
slammed.  I  distinctly  felt  the  cold  touch — 

"The  cold  touch — that  was  it — a  horrid  cold 
touch — like  an  icy  hand — the  hand  of  a  dead 
person." 

He  had  a  momentary  shock;  but  he  quickly 
recovered  himself,  remembering  that  it  lay  with 
him  to  quiet  the  nervousness  of  a  girl. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  my  dear  cousin,  't  was 
the  cold  touch  of  the  wind,"  said  he.  "  Why,  did 
we  not  see  its  effects — and  hear  them  into  the  bar- 
gain? What  do  you  fancy  it  was  that  banged  the 
door  and  blew  out  the  lights  if  not  the  wind? " 

Then  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Cousin  Byron,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper  that  had 
something  of  terror  in  it.  "  Cousin  Byron,  do  you 
know  whose  portrait  that  was  which  fell?" 

"  I  never  heard — oh,  yes,  I  did ;  it  was  the  por- 
trait of  your  grandfather,"  said  Byron.  "  He  died 
a  long  time  ago,  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  your 
father  told  me." 

"Do  you  know  how  he  died? — you  must  have 
heard  the  terrible  story,"  said  the  girl. 

"  I  think  that  your  father  mentioned  America. 
Was  he  not  a  soldier?  Did  not  he  fight  against 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  1 1 7 

the  brave  Washington.     I  hope  he  repented  of  it 
before  he  died." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  his  younger  brother.  No, 
that  is  the  portrait  of  my  grandfather  who  was 
killed  by  the  last  Lord  Byron,  your  father's 
uncle." 


CHAPTER  X 

BYRON  looked  at  her  for  a  few  moments.  She 
perceived  from  his  expression  that  he  had 
never  heard  the  story  with  which  all  England  had 
rung  when  his  father  was  still  a  boy. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  never  heard  of  the 
duel — it  was  called  a  duel,  between  Lord  Byron 
and  my  grandfather,  the  original  of  that  por- 
trait?" she  said. 

"  I  heard  nothing  of  it,"  said  he,  after  a  breath- 
less pause.  "Who  was  there  to  tell  me  of  it?  I 
was  cut  off  from  the  family  of  Byron.  My  grand- 
uncle  never  acknowledged  my  existence,  even 
after  he  knew  that  I  was  his  heir." 

"They  were  kinsmen  and  associates,  and  un- 
happily their  tempers  were  akin,"  said  Mary. 
"  They  had  constant  quarrels  during  the  years  that 
they  were  neighbours,  and  one  night — it  is  said, 
that  they  were  dining  together — a  crisis  came. 
No  one  knows  whether  the  insult  came  from  Lord 
Byron  or  from  my  grandfather,  but  there  were 
hot  words  and  a  blow.  It  is  said  that  my  grand- 
father wished  to  arrange  for  a  meeting  to  take 
place  the  next  morning,  but  Lord  Byron  forced 
him  at  the  point  of  the  sword  to  draw  that  very 
hour  in  his  own  defence.  They  fought  in  a  room 

us 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  119 

in  Newstead  which  was  lighted  by  a  single  candle. 
There  were  no  witnesses.  A  few  minutes  after  they 
entered  the  room,  the  servants,  who  were  huddled, 
about  the  door  outside,  heard  the  voice  of  my 
grandfather  crying  out,  '  Murder! '  There  was  the 
sound  of  a  heavy  fall,  and  a  derisive  word  in  the 
voice  of  his  antagonist.  The  door  was  thrown 
open  and  my  grandfather  was  seen  lying  on  his 
back  on  the  floor,  his  sword  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  and  Lord  Byron  standing  over  him  with 
the  candle  in  one  hand  and  his  sword  dripping 
blood  in  the  other." 

Byron  was  breathing  heavily.  His  throat  felt 
dry  and  his  lips  parted.  He  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  speak,  but  only  a  husky  word  or  two  came 
from  him,  and  then  indistinctly — 

"  Murdered  —  murdered  —  and  your  grand- 
father!" were  the  only  words  that  the  girl  heard 
him  speak. 

"Everyone  declared  that  murder  had  been 
done ;  but  Lord  Byron  was  tried  by  his  peers  and 
acquitted  of  all  criminal  intent,"  said  Mary. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Through  the  silence 
in  the  room  there  came  the  sounds  of  the  servants 
in  the  hall  trying  to  raise  the  picture.  Their 
staggering  feet  on  the  bare  floor  sounded  in  By- 
ron's ear  like  men  bearing  a  heavy  body  across  the 
boards. 

"Murdered — your  father's  father — and  yet  I 
am  here  to-night,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Why  should  you  not  be  here? "  she  cried,  with 


120  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

almost  passionate  vehemence.  "  Why  should  not 
that  horrible  thing  be  forgotten?  It  is  not  as  if 
you  were  his  direct  descendant.  You  are  only 
the  son  of  his  brother's  son ;  that  does  not  connect 
you  with  him,  except  distantly.  My  father  feels 
that,  and  my  mother  also.  That  was  why  she 
paid  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Byron  in  London  long  ago; 
and  that  being  so,  why  should  he ?" 

She  glanced  toward  the  door  as  if  she  expected 
to  see  someone  there. 

Byron  understood  what  she  meant.  But  he 
did  not  look  toward  the  door. 

"You  think,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "you 
think  that — he — that  he — the  falling  of  the  pic- 
ture— in  another  second  or  two  I  should  have 
been  beneath  it — is  that  what  is  in  your  thought, 
Mary — a  protest?" 

She  put  her  hands  before  her  face,  and  he  saw 
how  agitated  she  was.  She  was  breathing  in 
rapid  sobs,  and  spasmodically.  This  was  for  him, 
he  felt;  the  thought  of  the  danger  to  which  he 
had  been  so  near  had  overcome  her.  The  thought 
overwhelmed  him.  He  would  have  liked  to  throw 
himself  at  her  feet,  and  tell  her  that  his  heart  was 
full  of  love  for  her,  that  he  was  ready  to  do  any- 
thing for  her  happiness,  even  to  go  away  from 
her  forever.  But  he  felt  that  suddenly  a  cold 
hand  had  been  stretched  out  from  another  world 
between  them.  In  every  phrase  that  had  come 
from  the  girl  in  telling  him  the  story  of  the  duel 
between  their  kinsfolk  he  had  been  conscious  of 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  121 

the  obtrusion  of  that  dead  hand — it  came  be- 
tween them — it  forced  them  apart. 

At  last  she  took  her  hands  from  her  face. 

"It  is  ridiculous!"  she  said.  "You  can  only 
think  me  a  foolish  girl — superstitious — affrighted 
at  a  shadow — no,  not  even  a  shadow — only  the 
shadow  of  a  shadow — a  freak  of  the  fancy — a  gust 
of  wind.  But  you  will  allow  that  it  was  a  strange 
thing.  Why  should  it  have  fallen  just  at  that 
moment,  tell  me  that?  It  held  quite  firmly  all 
these  years ;  but  just  when  you — you — the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Byron  family — when  you,  I  say, 
are  within  a  dozen  yards  of  his  picture — of  that 
heavy  frame — if  it  had  fallen  upon  you,  you 
would  never  have  spoken  again." 

"Dear  Mary — dearest  girl — do  you  know  how 
I  feel  when  I  think  of  your  being  so  affected  on 
my  behalf?"  he  said,  leaning  over  her  tenderly, 
his  hand  resting  on  the  back  of  her  chair. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry  of  dis- 
tress. She  held  up  both  her  hands  against  him, 
only  for  a  second,  however,  then  she  cried: 

"The  poem — the — poem — your  poem,  Cousin 
Byron.  You  have  not  yet  kept  your  promise! 
Good  heavens!  What  have  we  been  thinking  of 
— talking  of  all  this  time,  while  a  poem  remained 
to  be  read.  Come,  the  poem — the  poem — your 
poem — my  poem — whatever  may  happen,  Byron, 
I  will  always  call  it  my  poem." 

She  had  walked  across  the  room,  tripping  in  a 
dainty  minuet  step  of  exquisite  artificiality;  a 


122  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

suggestion  of  gaiety  that  made  her  like  a  figure 
in  a  masque  of  "Spring."  But  he  knew  that  she 
was  acting;  there  was  no  perfume  of  spring  in 
the  room  across  which  she  had  flitted.  She  threw 
herself  upon  a  sofa  that  stood  in  the  farthest 
alcove  of  the  opposite  wall,  and  smiled  toward 
him. 

"I  am  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectancy,  Cousin 
Byron,"  she  cried. 

"  I  cannot  read  it  to  you  now,"  he  said. 

She  straightened  herself  on  the  sofa — she  had 
been  lying  back  before.  She  stretched  out  a 
derisive  finger  at  him. 

"What?  But  your  promise;  you  gave  me 
your  promise,"  she  cried. 

He  shook  his  head;  but  remained  silent.  A 
poem  seemed  a  poor  thing  to  him  at  that  moment. 
What  were  a  few  lines  that  jingled  together,  com- 
pared with  a  living  incident? 

"Let  me  talk  to  you  instead,  Mary,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  we  have  had  too  much  talking,"  she 
cried.  "We  have  neglected  the  poem." 

"I  must  speak,"  he  said.  "Even  though  I 
have  received  a  terrible  shock,  I  will  speak  what 
is  in  my  heart." 

She  rose  quickly. 

"Hush.  They  have  returned,"  she  said.  "I 
hear  the  sound  of  the  carriage.  They  will  be  in 
the  hall  in  a  minute.  We  must  meet  them  there. " 

She  hurried  abruptly  from  the  room  leaving 
him  standing  where  he  had  risen  from  his  chair 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  123 

a  few  moments  before.  Her  abruptness  was  on 
the  verge  of  rudeness;  and  he  was  still  a  boy  in 
point  of  sensitiveness.  She  had,  as  it  were,  re- 
minded him  of  his  helplessness;  at  any  rate  she 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  was  unable  to 
move  so  quickly  as  she  did.  But  then  she  seemed 
to  fly. 

He  stood  there  alone  for  some  time.  He  heard 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chaworth  passing  into  the  hall,  and 
Mary's  rapid  account  of  the  falling  of  the  picture, 
with  a  laugh  now  and  again  from  her,  and  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise  in  her  father's  bass,  as  she 
hurried  on.  Then  they  all  laughed  together; 
they  clearly  lacked  their  daughter's  imagination 
which  had  caused  her  to  be  superstitious  in  regard 
to  the  accident.  It  was  apparent  that  Mr.  Cha- 
worth was  talking  only  of  the  defective  screw, 
which  the  butler  was  pointing  out  to  him.  He 
could  distinctly  hear  the  butler  say : 

"  'T  was  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  sir,  that ' 

He  joined  the  others  in  the  hall,  and  made  his 
remarks  on  the  incident. 

"F  faith,  my  lad,  you  were  lucky,"  said  Mr. 
Chaworth.  "  If  you  had  been  sitting  in  your 
usual  place  you  would  have  got  the  full  weight  of 
the  top  of  the  frame  on  your  skull,  and  we  should 
be  puzzled  to  know  where  to  look  for  the  new 
Lord  Byron." 

"  If  it  had  happened  the  account  would  only  be 
square  between  the  Byrons  and  the  Chaworths," 
said  Byron  slowly. 


124  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Mrs.  Chaworth  grasped  his  meaning  at  once 
though  her  husband  did  not  do  so  immediately; 
but  the  moment  he  perceived  what  was  in  By- 
ron's mind,  he  smiled,  saying: 

"  Egad,  and  so  it  would ;  there  's  some  reason 
in  what  you  say.  But  thank  Heaven  there  's  no 
balance  of  accounts  kept  in  this  way  as  it  is  in 
Sicily.  You  have  heard  of  the  vendetta,  Byron? 
Someone  told  me  that  the  same  system  prevails 
in  the  Highlands.  Is  there  not  a  red  cross — a 
fiery  cross,  or  some  clannish  thing  of  that  type? 
Well,  I  '11  see  that  the  picture  is  properly  clamped 
to  the  wall  to-morrow,  to  prevent  the  possibility 
of  an  accident.  You  will  then  be  able  to  sit  here 
with  confidence." 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject.  Mr. 
Chaworth,  a  few  steps  back  from  where  the  pic- 
ture stood  on  the  floor,  leaning  up  against  the 
injured  panel,  looked  at  the  painting  critically, 
and  asserted  that  Mr.  Lawrence  never  would  be 
the  master  that  Gainsborough  was.  Mr.  Law- 
rence never  could  make  a  man  stand  boldly  on 
his  own  feet.  He  called  Byron's  attention  to  the 
nobility  of  the  pose  of  the  figure  in  the  picture 
before  him. 

"Ah,  no!  there  are  no  painters  nowadays  like 
what  we  used  to  have;  and  so  I  think  we  had 
better  go  to  bed,"  said  he. 

Thus,  unconcernedly,  they  separated,  only  By- 
ron, shaking  hands  with  Mary,  noticed  that  she 
was  pale,  and  that  there  was  still  a  look  of  rest- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  125 

lessness  in  her  eyes.  She  had  certainly  been 
deeply  impressed  by  what  had  occurred. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  in  his  own  room  that  he 
asked  himself  what  it  was  that  had  left  so  deep  an 
impression  on  her.  Was  it  the  thought  of  the 
risk  that  he  had  run  ?  Was  it  that  sensation  which 
she  said  she  had  experienced  when  that  strange 
gust  of  wind  had  rushed  past  her?  Was  it  a 
mingling  of  these  feelings  that  had  produced  her 
curious  restlessness  when  she  had  been  with  him 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  which  he  had  seen  in 
her  eyes  when  he  had  taken  her  hand  at  parting? 
Or  was  it  that  she  had  been  conscious  of  that  cold 
hand  which  he  had  felt  coming  between  them 
when  she  told  him  the  story  of  the  fatal  duel? 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  side  of  his  window 
trying  to  think  out  these  questions  which  he  had 
asked  himself,  and  he  had  not  succeeded  in  finding 
an  answer  to  any  one  of  them,  before  he  began 
to  ask  himself  what  was  the  origin  of  the  rest- 
lessness which  had  taken  possession  of  him  since 
he  had  sat  with  Mary  in  the  garden,  and  told  her 
that  he  had  written  his  verses.  His  answer  came 
to  him  speedily.  He  loved  her.  He  had  loved 
her  from  the  moment  when  he  had  opened  his 
eyes  and  seen  her  face  looking  down  upon  his 
own. 

And  then  this  restlessness  of  his  drove  him 
back  to  wonder  if  she  had  indeed  felt  that  that 
terrible  incident  which  had  happened  before 
either  of  them  was  born  had  always  been  regarded 


126  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

by  her  as  a  barrier  between  them — if  there  was 
something  repulsive  to  her  in  the  thought  of 
loving  or  being  loved  by  the  living  representative 
of  the  man  who  had  murdered  her  father's 
father. 

She  knew  what  his  own  feelings  had  been 
while  she  was  in  the  act  of  telling  him  the  story, 
and  he  was  still  conscious  of  the  presence  of  that 
hand  which  had  come  between  the  girl  and  him- 
self. But  a  few  minutes  later  she  had  told  him 
with  almost  passionate  vehemence  that  the  whole 
incident  should  be  forgotten;  that  she  did  not 
think  of  him  as  being  any  relation  to  the  man  who 
had  been  guilty  of  the  death  of  her  father's  father, 
but  although  she  had  said  this,  he  remembered 
that,  so  far  from  becoming  more  tranquil,  she 
had  become  more  excited  than  before,  glancing 
toward  the  door  with  a  certain  expression  of  fear 
in  her  eyes. 

Of  what  was  she  fearful?  Was  it  of  some 
supernatural  power  of  evil  of  whose  approach  the 
falling  of  the  picture  was  a  warning?  Was  she 
thinking  of  the  narrowness  of  his  escape  from 
almost  certain  death?  Was  she  so  greatly  at- 
tached to  him  that  the  very  thought  of  the  risk 
he  had  run  perturbed  her? 

He  would  have  given  all  that  he  possessed  to 
be  satisfied  that  this  view  of  the  matter  was  the 
right  one.  He  had  been  about  to  test  it  when  she 
had  hastened  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  simu- 
lating a  gay  indifference  to  fate,  and  thus  pre- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  127 

venting  him  from  telling  all  that  he  had  in  his 
heart  to  tell  her. 

And  if  she  had  acted  with  this  intention,  would 
he  be  doing  wrong  to  assume  that  she  had  some 
instinct  of  what  his  revelation  to  her  would  be? 
Would  his  declaration  of  love  be  no  revelation  to 
her?  Had  she  guessed  long  before  what  was  in 
his  heart? 

Had  she  done  so  by  looking  into  her  own  heart? 

It  was  the  instinct  of  this  boy's  genius  that 
told  him  that  a  woman  always  comes  to  a  know- 
ledge of  what  is  in  a  man's  heart  by  looking  into 
her  own.  But  it  did  not  tell  him  why  Mary  had 
been  so  persistent  in  averting  the  moment  of  his 
declaration  to  her,  why  she  had  harped  upon  his 
promise  to  read  his  poem  to  her,  why  she  had 
given  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she  sprung  to  her  feet 
on  hearing  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  on  the 
drive. 

The  life  of  a  genius  with  the  affections  of  a  man 
is  made  up  into  alternate  flights  into  the  highest 
heaven  and  descents  into  the  deepest  hell,  and 
the  story  of  Byron  is  essentially  the  story  of  a 
genius  with  affections.  Within  the  space  of  an 
hour,  while  he  stood  at  his  window  facing  the 
black  night,  or  lay  undressed  upon  his  bed,  or 
paced  his  floor  with  uneven  steps,  he  felt  all  the 
exaltation  of  a  boy  who  knows  that  he  is  loved, 
and  all  the  tortures  of  the  man  who  doubts.  One 
moment  his  heart  was  singing  a  paean,  and  before 
he  had  crossed  the  room  the  strain  dwindled  into 


128  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

a  dirge.  He  knew  that  he  loved,  but  he  had  no 
assurance  that  he  was  beloved ;  and  to  be  with- 
out assurance  is  to  a  lover  to  be  in  a  bottomless 
pit  of  despair. 

He  looked  out  on  to  the  night;  but  the  night 
was  blank ;  he  threw  himself  upon  his  couch  and 
tried  to  work  out  the  question  as  if  it  were  a 
mathematical  problem,  assigning  a  numeral  value 
to  every  sign  that  he  could  recollect  of  favours 
shown  to  him  by  the  girl ;  he  thought  of  a  hundred 
favours,  but  he  was  no  happier  than  before, 
for  in  his  calculations  the  value  of  that  curious 
change  of  hers  from  passionate  earnestness  to  the 
cajolery  of  a  play  actress,  with  pretty  feet,  served 
to  upset  his  mathematics  and  to  send  him  on  a 
pendulous  excursion  between  the  walls  of  his 
room.  To  and  fro  he  went,  sometimes  with 
bowed  head,  again  with  uplifted  head,  now  and 
then  with  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  and  for 
many  journeys  interlocked  above  his  head. 

The  room  was  too  small  for  him ;  he  felt,  after 
pacing  it  for  a  bad  hour,  that  the  atmosphere  was 
stifling.  He  threw  open  his  door  and  stepped  out 
noiselessly  upon  the  carpet  of  the  corridor  leading 
to  the  gallery  above  the  staircase.  But  even  if 
he  had  been  wearing  boots  and  had  walked  on 
the  bare  oak,  he  would  not,  he  knew,  be  running 
a  chance  of  awaking  any  one.  The  rooms  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Chaworth  looked  out  upon  the  front  of 
the  house,  and  Mary  slept  in  the  same  wing. 

He  felt  refreshed  by  the  cool  air  of  the  corridor, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  129 

and  he  strolled  backward  and  forward  for  some 
time.  He  stood  looking  out  of  the  great  groined 
window  at  the  end  of  the  passage  for  some  time, 
and  then  he  retraced  his  steps  until  he  was  at  the 
head  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs.  He  remained 
here,  "finding  it  restful  to  lean  over  the  smooth  oak 
rail,  looking  down  upon  the  short  flight  of  shal- 
low steps  that  sprung  directly  from  the  hall  to  the 
broad  landing  with  the  window  emblazoned  with 
the  shields  and  quarterings  of  the  family.  The 
single  lamp  which  burned  all  night  in  a  corner  of 
the  hall  sent  out  only  a  faint  gleam  to  touch  the 
polished  oak  at  places  and  to  make  a  ruby  blaze 
upon  the  facets  of  the  gules  of  the  leaded  panes. 

The  night  was  profoundly  still.  Outside  there 
was  no  whisper  of  wind;  the  hoot  of  a  single 
owl  came  from  a  distance,  and  once  the  note  of  a 
night- jar  whirled  past  the  house.  Such  sounds  only 
made  the  dead  silence  within  seem  all  the  more 
intense.  A  velvet  silence  draped  the  hall,  so  that 
the  solitary  watcher  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  had 
a  feeling  of  looking  into  a  vast  vaulted  tomb,  and 
the  thin  light  of  the  lamp  had  the  semblance  of 
phosphorescence  or  that  weird  illuminant  which 
he  had  heard  called  a  corpse-candle. 

He  remained,  a  part  of  the  silence,  for  some 
time,  but  no  revelation  came  to  him  out  of  its 
depths.  He  lifted  his  head  from  the  gallery  rail 
and  returned  with  slow  steps  to  the  corridor  lead- 
ing to  his  room.  When  he  opened  his  door  the 
light  of  the  candle,  which  he  had  left  burning, 


130  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

flickered  across  the  wall  outside.  At  the  same 
instant  he  became  aware  of  a  faint  sound — it 
might  have  been  a  footfall  on  the  stairs.  He 
turned  quickly  around. 

He  saw  it  at  once  float  athwart  the  flicker  of 
the  candle-light  down  the  corridor — something  of 
white — a  shape,  but  blurred.  He  remained  breath- 
less a  space  with  his  hand  on  the  door  of  his  room. 
His  heart's  beating  was  audible  to  him  for  more 
than  a  moment.  Then  he  heard  another  soft  pat 
of  a  foot  upon  the  floor  of  the  gallery. 

For  some  time  he  could  not  stir ;  he  could  only 
listen.  He  heard  another  pat,  pat,  pat;  after 
that,  silence.  He  crept  along  the  carpet  of  the 
corridor  and  cautiously  put  forth  his  head.  There 
she  was  standing  with  her  foot  on  the  first  step  of 
the  staircase,  her  hand  on  the  banister  rail.  She 
was  robed  in  white,  and  her  feet  were  bare.  Had 
she  been  otherwise  she  would  have  been  almost 
invisible,  so  faint  was  the  light  that  came  from 
the  depths  of  the  hall.  But  he  saw  her.  She 
seemed  to  his  eyes  like  the  Angel  of  the  Resur- 
rection descending  into  the  vault.  Her  hair, 
which  slipped  in  coils  loose  over  her  shoulders, 
seemed  to  have  a  light  of  its  own,  enabling  him  to 
see  her  face.  It  was  white;  its  whiteness  lay 
upon  the  darkness  like  an  alabaster  carving  laid 
on  a  background  of  black  marble.  And  while  he 
watched  her  she  went  down  the  stairs,  slowly  and 
cautiously,  her  left  hand  slipping  along  the  slope 
of  the  smooth  rail,  and  her  feet  being  on  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  131 

polished  woodwork  between  the  stair  carpet  and 
the  banisters.  She  went  down  to  the  first  land- 
ing where  she  stood  for  some  time;  and  now, 
looking  down  from  the  gallery  to  which  he  had 
crept,  he  saw  her  figure  clearly  as  she  approached 
the  light  in  the  hall.  He  saw  her  beautiful  white 
face  and  little  white  feet.  He  saw  the  soft  sugges- 
tions of  the  lines  of  her  figure  shining  through  the 
single  garment  that  she  wore — the  sinuous  snowy 
robe. 

In  an  instant  the  truth  flashed  upon  him;  the 
girl  was  walking  in  her  sleep,  some  purpose  was 
in  her  mind,  a  somnambulist's  purpose,  and  she 
was  going  down  to  the  hall,  perhaps  out  of  doors 
to  fulfil  it. 

In  an  instant  he  rose  to  his  feet.  He  felt  that 
it  was  necessary  for  him  to  take  some  action. 
He  had  heard  of  sleep-walkers  doing  dangerous 
things — injuring  themselves — killing  themselves. 
What  if  the  impulse  which  was  on  her  at  that 
moment  should  tend  in  such  a  direction?  She 
was  not  accountable  for  her  acts  in  this  state.  She 
might  be  forced  to  do  something  terrible.  There 
was  a  wide  and  deep  fishpond  not  so  far  from  the 
entrance  to  the  hall. 

He  did  not  hesitate.  He  went  as  quickly  as 
possible  down  the  stairs,  and  reached  the  floor  a 
few  minutes  after  he  had  seen  her  descend.  At 
first  he  did  not  perceive  in  which  direction  she 
had  gone;  but  the  taking  of  a  step  to  the  right 
was  sufficient  to  show  her  to  him  once  more.  She 


132  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

was  standing  in  front  of  the  picture  that  had 
fallen.  The  misty  light  of  the  lamp  shone  upon 
the  gilding  of  the  broad  frame  and  was  reflected 
upon  her  white  face.  It  made  her  robes  seem 
diaphanous — nay,  she  herself  appeared  to  be  as 
transparent  as  a  mist  through  which  a  light  shines. 

He  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  watching 
her  with  palpitating  heart  and  a  gasping  of 
breath  in  his  throat,  which  he  strove  to  check  but 
could  not.  He  was  trembling  so  that  he  found  it 
necessary  to  support  himself  by  a  hand  on  the 
great  carved  newel.  He  could  not  move  from 
where  he  stood,  though  his  longing  to  go  to  her 
side,  to  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  tell  her  that  she 
might  trust  him  to  love  her  for  ever,  was  intense. 

She  remained  looking  up  to  the  face  of  the  pic- 
ture for  a  long  time;  then  she  clasped  her  hands 
and,  in  an  imploring  attitude,  uttered  some  words. 
Her  phrases  were  spoken  in  a  low  tone  and  were 
disjointed.  She  seemed  simply  to  be  sighing  a 
word  or  two.  Then  she  turned  away  from  the 
picture.  He  did  not  move,  so  that  she  faced  him 
in  a  moment.  He  saw  that  her  look  of  anxiety, 
of  restlessness,  which  had  been  on  her  face 
when  he  was  with  her  in  the  drawing-room  was 
intensified.  She  went  close  to  him ;  he  could  feel 
the  soft  warmth  of  her  gentle  body,  the  soft 
warmth  of  a  white  rose,  beside  him;  but  her 
cold  expressionless  eyes  told  him  that  she  was 
still  asleep. 

She  stood  beside  him  for  a  little  while  as  if  un- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  133 

certain  whether  or  not  to  ascend  the  stairs.  Then 
she  turned  once  more  and  went  quickly  back  to 
the  picture.  She  clasped  her  hands  again  and 
now  she  spoke  distinctly,  and  the  words  that  she 
said  were : 

"  Spare  him — you  will  spare  him — I  implore  of 
you  to  spare  him  because  I  love  him.  Surely  you 
will  respect  that  plea.  I  love  him.  Even  though 
I  may  wrong  him  and — 

So  far  he  had  heard  clearly  all  that  she  said,  but 
now  the  tone  of  her  voice  fell.  Her  words  became 
less  audible  until  at  last  her  lips  only  were  moving ; 
her  words  were  not  louder  than  a  sigh.  He  failed 
to  hear  one  of  them  clearly.  Her  lips  were  still 
moving  rapidly  while  she  moved  backward  from 
the  picture,  and  on  to  the  stairs,  her  robe  brushing 
him  as  she  passed.  He  watched  her  go  slowly  up 
the  staircase  until  she  disappeared  in  the  gallery 
off  which  her  room  was  situated. 

Not  for  a  moment  had  he  a  thought  of  awaking 
her.  He  had  a  feeling  that  her  sleep  was  sacred. 
He  even  felt  that  he  had  been  an  eavesdropper, 
having  overheard  those  words  which  she  uttered 
in  the  confidence  of  unconsciousness.  It  was 
something  like  having  surprised  her  bathing,  and 
not  then  staying  to  watch  her.  His  self-reproach 
would  have  seemed  to  many  people  to  be  artificial ; 
but  to  him  it  was  for  the  moment  very  real ;  and 
its  impression  lasted  with  him  even  until  he  had 
reached  his  room,  and  had  sat  down  to  think  over 
his  experience  of  the  night. 


134  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

His  thoughts  somehow  contracted  until  they 
were  dwelling  only  upon  that  little  pair  of  naked 
feet  which  he  had  seen  beneath  the  embroidery  of 
that  white  clinging  robe.  That  beautiful  picture 
filled  all  his  thoughts.  He  was  unable  to  feel  the 
elation  which  should  certainly  have  been  his,  hav- 
ing heard  the  confession  that  had  come  from  her 
when  face  to  face  with  the  picture.  And  when 
he  lay  awake  in  his  bed  it  was  not  the  thought  that 
the  difficult  question  which  had  perplexed  him 
an  hour  before,  and  which  was  now  answered, 
that  kept  him  from  sleep ;  it  was  only  the  thought 
of  those  little  bare  feet. 

He  did  not  close  his  eyes  for  another  hour. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  he  awoke  in  the  morning  after  the 
most  eventful  night  of  his  life,  it  was 
with  a  sense  of  perfect  happiness,  a  sense  that 
his  life  was  complete,  that  the  future  could  bring 
nothing  better  than  what  had  already  come  to 
him.  Of  course,  he  felt  that  he  was  bound  to  re- 
gard as  confidential  the  confession  which  he  had 
overheard,  but  this  fact  did  not  diminish  from  the 
satisfaction  which  he  derived  from  overhearing  it. 
It  was  the  truth  that  she  had  spoken,  of  so  much 
he  was  assured.  And  the  depth  of  the  love  for 
him  to  which  she  had  confessed  was  proved  by  the 
effect  it  had  upon  her.  The  expression  of  anxiety 
which  he  noticed  on  her  face  the  previous  night 
had  been  there,  he  now  knew,  because  she  was 
apprehensive  of  his  safety.  Beyond  a  doubt  she 
had  been  greatly  frightened  by  the  incidents  con- 
nected with  the  falling  of  the  picture.  She  had 
talked  with  conviction  about  the  mysterious  na- 
ture of  that  gust  of  wind  which  had  rushed  past 
her  where  she  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. He  was  inclined  himself  to  look  at  the 
mysterious  side  of  things,  and  superstition  had 
been  part  of  his  education  in  Scotland,  where 
there  was  a  word  to  define  things  of  mystery; 


136  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"uncanny"  was  the  word  which  he  had  heard 
used  with  great  frequency.  This  was  why  he 
could  understand  how  Mary  Chaworth  should  be 
affected  by  the  idea  of  the  ghost  of  her  ancestor 
returning  to  earth  to  protest  against  the  appear- 
ance of  the  representative  of  the  man  who  had 
slain  him,  as  a  guest  at  Annesley  Hall. 

How  deeply  she  had  been  affected  by  the 
thought  that  he  might  be  in  danger  had  been 
proved  to  him  very  clearly;  and  this  being  so, 
how  could  he  be  otherwise  than  happy  ?  He  was 
happy.  He  felt  that  his  life  was  complete.  He 
asked  for  nothing  more  in  the  world. 

The  carpenters  were  already  at  work  upon  the 
injured  panel  when  he  came  down  to  breakfast, 
Mr.  Chaworth  standing  in  the  hall  giving  instruc- 
tions respecting  the  fitting  of  powerful  bolts  to 
the  frame  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  the  accident 
being  repeated  within  a  hundred  years  at  least. 
The  workman  was  ready  to  give  a  personal  guar- 
antee of  five  hundred  to  the  new  bolts. 

"  We  must  not  run  the  chance  of  having  to  send 
our  guests  away  in  their  coffins,  Byron,"  said  Mr. 
Chaworth ;  and  just  at  that  moment  Mary  came 
down-stairs.  She  said  good-morning  to  Byron, 
and  kissed  her  father,  and  then  hurried  past  the 
picture  with  only  a  single  glance  at  it,  and  that 
glance  had  (Byron  saw)  a  shudder  in  it.  He  was 
glad  that  she  did  not  tarry  in  the  hall.  If  she 
had  not  passed  through  so  rapidly  she  would  cer- 
tainly have  noticed  the  flush  which  came  upon  his 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  137 

face  as  he  thought  of  how  he  had  seen  her  in  the 
same  place  some  hours  before  sunrise.  He  had 
an  idea  that  the  thought  of  his  eavesdropping 
would  prevent  his  being  able  to  meet  her  eye, 
without  letting  her  know  that  he  had  pried  upon 
her  secret.  And  how  would  it  be,  he  asked  him- 
self, when  he  had  told  her  all  that  was  in  his 
heart,  when  he  had  heard  from  her  own  true  lips 
the  secret  which  he  had  heard  her  confess  to  the 
picture  ? 

She  was  silent,  and  so  was  he,  during  breakfast. 
He  thought  that  she  looked  paler  than  usual ;  but 
the  expression  of  anxiety  was  no  longer  on  her 
face. 

After  breakfast  the  horses  were  brought  round 
to  the  porch.  The  young  people  were  accustomed 
to  have  a  gallop  with  Mr.  Chaworth  to  visit  some 
of  the  farms,  regardless  of  the  weather;  and  if 
Mr.  Chaworth  found  himself  detained  by  any 
bailiff's  business,  Mary  and  Byron  continued  their 
ride  across  country.  This  was  what  happened 
now ;  they  had  gone  to  Mertoun  Farm,  and  there 
had  been  a  talk  of  the  tenant's  taking  over  the 
lease  of  the  adjoining  grazing.  An  hour  would 
be  occupied  in  settling  terms,  Mr.  Chaworth  said, 
and  even  this  was  assuming  that  the  tenant 
would  be  reasonable,  which  had  never  been,  he 
said,  an  experience  of  his. 

"You  can  have  your  ride;  give  the  rascal  an 
hour  to  grumble  about  the  wet  seasons,  and  half 
an  hour  to  curse  the  dry,  and  drop  in  on  me  on 


138  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

your  way  home,"  he  suggested,  when  he  had  dis- 
mounted and  handed  over  his  horse  to  one  of  the 
farmer's  men. 

But  his  daughter  showed  no  disposition  to  ac- 
cept his  suggestion.  She  became  excessively 
dutiful,  saying,  with  a  pout,  that  he  was  tiresome, 
and  that  it  was  too  bad  that  he  should  be  com- 
pelled to  bear  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  tenants' 
complaints,  and,  therefore,  that  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  face  the  man  and  tell  him  that  if  he 
meant  to  take  the  meadows  he  should  do  so  at 
once,  and  if  he  did  not  mean  to  do  so  he  should 
not  waste  valuable  time  in  grumbling;  it  was 
useless,  besides  being  impious. 

Her  father  said : 

"Egad,  madam,  you  will  make  a  very  pretty 
business-woman  when  your  time  comes,  but 
meantime,  I  will  take  care  that  you  do  not  inter- 
rupt my  business ;  so  off  you  go,  and  come  back 
with  some  of  the  pink  of  the  bramble-berries  in 
your  cheeks.  Just  now  they  are  as  pale  as 
guelders.  Off  you  go." 

He  gave  her  mare  a  cut  with  his  whip,  sending 
her  flying  along  the  little  track  across  the  great 
cornfield,  which  only  a  month  before  had  been 
glorious  with  the  harvest's  gold.  Byron  sent  his 
horse  after  her  at  a  gallop. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  he  asked  when  he  had 
overtaken  her  at  the  brook.  "  This  is  the  clearest 
day  we  have  had  for  a  week.  Shall  we  ride  to 
the  Knoll  and  make  it  our  Pisgah?" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  139 

The  Knoll  was  the  highest  point  of  the  land  in 
this  neighbourhood.  The  clump  of  trees  that 
crowned  it  had  been  planted  in  a  circle  in  the 
days  of  the  Civil  War  to  commemorate  a  victory 
in  which  the  owner  of  the  estate  was  interested. 
But  so  little  interested  were  the  people  of  the 
neighbourhood  in  the  incident,  the  next  genera- 
tion could  not  tell  what  was  the  precise  victory 
it  was  meant  to  perpetuate.  A  fine  view  of  the 
country  was  to  be  had  on  clear  days  from  its 
summit.  Byron  had  called  it  Pisgah.  But  years 
had  passed  before  he  described  it : 

A  gentle  hill, 

Green  and  of  mild  declivity,  the  last, 
As  't  were  the  cap  of  a  long  ridge  of  such, 
Save  that  there  was  no  sea  to  lave  its  base, 
But  a  most  living  landscape  and  the  wave 
Of  woods  and  cornfields,  and  the  abodes  of  man 
Scattered  at  intervals,  and  wreathing  smoke 
Arising  from  such  rustic  roofs ;  the  hill 
Was  crown'd  with  a  peculiar  diadem 
Of  trees  in  circular  array,  so  fix'd 
Not  by  the  sport  of  nature  but  of  man. 

Mary  did  not  seem  to  hear  what  he  said.  She 
was  walking  her  mare,  and  her  head  was  droop- 
ing. He  had  to  repeat  his  suggestion,  and  then 
she  started  as  if  she  were  awaking  from  a  dream. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Cousin  Byron,"  she  said. 
"  I  was  thinking — thinking  that  papa  takes  a  vast 
amount  of  trouble  to — to — oh,  yes;  the  Knoll — 
any  place — it  is  all  the  same  to  me." 


140  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

She  cantered  ahead  of  him;  and  the  ground 
where  they  now  were  was  so  uneven  that  he  had 
difficulty  in  getting  alongside  her  again.  He  felt 
somewhat  hurt  at  her  evident  desire  to  be  un- 
companionable. 

"Do  you  wish  to  show  me  the  way?"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  think  that  it  is  necessary.  But  perhaps 
you  have  something  on  your  mind,  and  you  do 
not  wish  me  to  get  close  to  you  to  read  your 
thoughts.  If  you  are  afraid,  I  can  easily  drop 
behind." 

"Do  not  be  a  goose,  Byron,"  she  said  quickly. 
He  drew  his  rein  in  a  moment;  and  she  made 
haste  to  ask  his  pardon. 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  she  said;  "I  mean  that 
— oh,  Byron,  I  want  to  make  a  strange  request 
of  you — more  than  a  request — I  want  to  implore 
of  you  to  go  away  from  me — from  us — from 
Annesley — at  once!" 

She  spoke  earnestly — almost  fervently,  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  looking  with  be- 
seeching eyes  into  his  face. 

He  had  never  received  such  a  shock  as  her 
words  gave  him.  He  was  too  startled  to  be  able 
to  speak.  He  could  only  stare  at  her.  He  felt 
the  blood  leave  his  face ;  and  for  some  moments 
he  had  an  impression  of  suddenly  awaking,  hav- 
ing heard  words  at  that  instant  the  exact  import 
of  which  he  had  failed  to  grasp.  He  could  not 
trust  his  ears. 

"  I  have  startled  you,"  she  said.     "  But  indeed, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord 


you  are  not  more  startled  than  I  am.  I  did  not 
think  that  I  should  be  able  to  say  what  I  have 
said;  but  I  have  spoken,  and  I  am  glad.  Oh, 
my  dear  Byron,  it  is  but  too  true;  you  must  go 
away." 

"Why  should  I  go  away  —  tell  me  that,  Mary," 
he  cried.  "  Why  should  I  go  away  just  now  when 
I  have  come  to  know  that  we  —  you  and  I  —  that 
we  -  " 

"You  are  to  go  to  save  yourself  from  the 
greatest  trouble  of  your  life  —  to  save  me  from 
the  greatest  trouble  of  mine,"  she  said.  "You 
do  not  know  how  great  may  be  this  trouble.  But 
you  can  judge  of  it  when  I  tell  you  that  — 
that  -  " 

"Dare  you  tell  me  that  it  is  greater  than  the 
pain  of  parting?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  dare  —  I  dare.  Do  you  not  think  that  I 
have  weighed  the  two  —  that  I  have  set  the  one 
in  the  balance  against  the  other?"  she  cried.  "  I 
have  done  so,  and  yet  I  can  now  say,  '  Go  —  go.'  ' 

"  More  bitter  words  were  never  spoken,"  said  he. 

"True;  but  they  save  a  still  more  bitter  ex- 
perience," she  replied. 

She  was  looking  into  his  face;  he  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  hers. 

There  was  a  protracted  pause  before  he  said  : 

"  Dear  Mary,  I  know  a  great  deal  more  of  what 
is  in  your  heart  than  you  fancy  I  do.  You  are 
the  sweetest  —  the  best  that  lives  in  the  world. 
There  can  never  have  been  one  like  you,  and 


142  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

there  never  shall  be  another.  I  know  what  is 
in  your  heart.  It  is  for  me  you  are  afraid — you 
fear  that  I  am  in  danger  so  long  as  I  remain  at 
Annesley.  What  happened  last  night  put  you  in 
fear.  You  cannot  think  that  the  accident  from 
which  I  just  escaped  was  due  to  an  ordinary — a 
natural  cause.  You  have  a  feeling  that  the  man 
who  was  murdered  by  the  last  Lord  Byron  has 
power  to  resent  the  coming  to  the  house  which 
was  once  his  of  anyone  bearing  the  name  of  his 
murderer.  Am  not  I  right?" 

She  seemed  glad  to  jump  at  his  suggestion. 

"That  is  it,"  she  said.  "You  do  not  think  me 
foolish,  Byron.  I  know  that  there  are  many 
people  who  would  call  me  foolish — superstitious. 
But  you  are  not  one  of  them.  You  have  agreed 
with  me  that  there  are  strange  things — strange 
powers.  ...  I  told  you  last  night  that  I  felt 
something  when  that  terrifying  gust  of  wind 
came.  ...  If  you  had  gone  into  the  hall  a 
few  seconds  sooner.  .  .  .  When  I  think  of  it 
all.  .  .  .  But  you  will  go  away  before  any- 
thing happens.  What  are  we  that  we  should  try 
to  contend  with  these  powers?  We  shall  be 
sorry — you  will  never  know  how  sorry;  but  you 
must  go  away." 

"And  I  will  go  away,"  he  said,  after  a  short 
space  of  silence. 

"You  will?  Ah,  I  knew  you  would  grant  my 
request  without  having  a  doubtful  thought,"  she 
cried. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  143 

"A  doubtful  thought?  How  would  it  be  pos- 
sible for  me  to  have  a  doubtful  thought,  Mary?" 

"Why,  you  might  feel  that  I  was  outraging 
all  the  traditions  of  hospitality.  If  my  father 
or  mother  were  to  know  that  I  took  this  step  they 
would  never  forgive  me.  But  you  have  under- 
stood me;  you  know  that  I  am  trying  to  save  us 
both  from  a  great  unhappiness.  You  know  what 
is  in  my  heart." 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly — tenderly. 

"I  believe  I  do  know  what  is  in  your  heart," 
he  said.  "  I  only  came  to  know  it  last  night — in 
a  dream — it  was  revealed  to  me  in  a  dream.  I 
fancied  that  I  came  down-stairs  and  stood  in  the 
hall  opposite  the  picture;  it  was  leaning  against 
the  panel  in  the  alcove,  just  as  I  had  seen  it  be- 
fore going  to  bed.  It  was  all  very  real.  The 
place  was  in  darkness  but  for  a  faint  gleam  that 
came  from  the  single  lamp.  And  while  I  stood 
there  alone  I  seemed  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  step 
on  the  stairs.  I  turned  my  head  and  saw  you 
coming  down  to  the  hall.  By  one  of  those  incon- 
gruities which  occur  in  dreams  you  passed  close 
to  me  without  seeing  me — you  seemed  quite  un- 
aware of  my  presence,  and  I  did  not  speak  to 
you — it  seemed  quite  natural  that  I  should  not 
speak  to  you.  You  passed  me  and  went  to  the 
picture,  and  stood  before  it.  I  heard  you  address 
it  as  if  it  were  a  living  person,  and  the  words 
which  you  said  were:  'Spare  him — spare  him,  I 
implore  of  you,  spare  him  because '  but  the 


144  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

next  words  were  indistinct — they  were  faint  as 
an  angel's  singing  in  a  dream.  I  had  only  a 
sense  of  this  sweetness.  When  I  awoke  I  knew 
that  that  dream  had  come  to  reveal  to  me  all  that 
was  in  your  heart." 

He  saw  her  become  roseate  when  he  mentioned 
having  seen  her  stand  before  the  picture,  and 
when  he  pretended  that  he  had  failed  to  hear  the 
words  which  she  had  spoken,  she  gave  a  little 
sigh  of  relief.  She  gave  her  mare  a  touch  with 
her  whip  and  sent  her  ahead  of  her  companion, 
but  after  a  canter  of  a  hundred  yards  or  less  she 
slackened  her  pace  to  allow  him  to  get  abreast  of 
her.  They  were  now  not  far  from  the  "  diadem" 
of  the  hill,  the  panoramic  circle  was  widening  in 
front  of  them. 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  view  of  the  country  so 
clearly,"  she  said,  pointing  with  her  whip  and 
sweeping  it  from  right  to  left.  "You  were  wise 
to  choose  this  direction  for  our  ride,  Cousin  Byron. 
And  only  last  week  the  valley  was  full  of  mist." 

"Yes,"  said  Byron,  "to-day  I  think  I  see 
things  clearly — free  from  the  mists  of  doubt — the 
uncertain  atmosphere  of  a  dream." 

"Byron,"  she  said,  "if  I  had  any  doubt  as  to 
the  strange  influences  which  are  at  work  about 
us,  what  you  have  told  me  of  your  dream  would 
be  enough  to  convince  me  that  it  would  be  tempt- 
ing Fate — oh,  it  would  be  madness — sheer  mad- 
ness for  you  to  stay  with  us  any  longer.  Let  me 
tell  you  that  I,  too,  had  that  dream  last  night— 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  145 

that  very  dream — it  differed  in  no  respect  from 
yours;  I  fancied  that  I  went  down-stairs  and 
stood  before  that  picture  and  spoke  to  it.  Should 
not  that  be  enough  for  us — enough  to  warn  us; 
people  do  not  have  the  same  dream  unless  as  a 
warning." 

They  were  riding  side  by  side  now,  and  while 
she  spoke  she  looked  into  his  face  in  all  tender- 
ness. Tears  were  in  her  voice,  her  words  sounded 
in  his  ear  like  a  moan.  She  laid  a  hand  upon  one 
of  his  own,  and  he  felt  how  it  trembled.  He 
caught  her  trembling  hand  and  held  it  passion- 
ately to  his  heart. 

"My  darling — my  darling  Mary!"  he  whis- 
pered, and  again  there  was  a  passionate  choking 
gasp  in  his  voice.  "  You  will  not  force  me  to  go 
away  when  I  tell  you  that  I  heard  the  words  which 
you  sai'd  to  the  picture  before  you  left  it." 

"  Byron,  Byron,  what  do  you  mean? "  she  cried 
almost  piteously.  "  You  must  not  hold  my  hand 
so.  It  is  not  fitting — it  is  foolish — it  is  cruel, 
and  I  will  not  submit  to  it.  Oh,  Byron,  what 
madness  is  this?  Why  did  you  ever  come  to  us? 
Why  was  I  such  a  fool  as  to  look  out  of  the  coach 
window  that  morning?  That  was  the  worst  act 
of  my  life." 

"  The  best — the  best — the  best ;  for  it  brought 
me  to  your  side,  and  there  I  found  the  heaven 
which  I  knew  I  was  nearing  when  I  looked  up 
from  where  I  was  lying  and  saw  your  dear  face 
above  me,"  he  said. 


146  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  Madness — madness ;  for  God's  sake  do  not  say 
anything  more  to  me,"  she  cried,  trying  to  force 
the  animal  she  was  riding  to  get  in  advance  of 
his  horse.  He  would  not  allow  her  to  pass  him. 
Both  came  to  a  standstill. 

"You  think  that  I  am  a  boy,"  he  said.  "  But 
I  am  a  man.  Ask  yourself,  Mary,  if  you  do  not 
know  in  your  heart  that  the  love  I  have  for  you  is 
the  love  of  a  man  for  a  woman.  You  know  it, 
and  you  stood  before  the  picture  last  night  and 
said,  '  I  love  him — I  love  him ' — I  heard  you,  and 
now  you  will  say  those  sweet  words  not  to  a 
picture  but  to  a  man  who  returns  your  love  a 
thousand-fold.  Mary,  my  Mary,  you  will  say 
those  words  to  me  now,  and  we  shall  both  be 
happy." 

She  snatched  her  hands  away  from  him  and 
held  them  on  her  shoulders  out  of  his  reach.  The 
expression  on  her  face  was  almost  one  of  terror. 

"  A  dream — you  told  me  you  dreamt  it.  How 
could  you  know  what  I  said  in  my  dream?"  she 
whispered.  "Why  do  you  enweb  me  with  mys- 
tery? A  dream!  What  is  a  dream!  But  how 
could  we  both  have  the  same — oh,  I  will  not  think 
of  it  any  more.  I  have  no  head  for  mysteries. 
Love  you — 7  love  you?  Oh,  Byron,  this  is  folly 
— sheer  folly — a  cruel  madness!  How  could  you 
ever  think  it  possible  that  I — I  should  love  you? " 

"  Why  should  you  not?  Why  should  not  I  love 
you?"  he  said,  becoming  more  calm.  "Is  it  be- 
cause I  bear  the  same  name  as  the  man  who " 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  H7 

"Oh,  no,  no;  that  is  nothing;  but — surely — 
oh,  surely  you  know  that  I — that  I 

Her  voice  faltered;  her  lips  began  to  tremble 
as  do  the  lips  of  an  infant  when  on  the  brink  of 
tears.  She  turned  away  her  head,  but  not  be- 
fore* she  had  given  him  one  piteous  glance. 

"What  should  I  know?"  he  said,  with  some 
measure  of  impatience.  "  I  only  know  one  thing, 
and  that  is  enough  for  me ;  it  is  enough  for  both 
of  us,  Mary;  I  love  you — you  love  me — that  is 
one  thing,  not  two  things;  we  love — there  is 
nothing  else  in  the  world  or  the  heaven,  for  us." 

"There  is  something  else  for  me,"  she  said 
mournfully.  Then  she  made  an  effort,  she  lifted 
her  head  up  boldly,  saying  in  a  voice  which  was 
perfectly  under  command : 

"Cousin  Byron,  you  should  have  known — I 
thought  that  you  knew — that  I  am  not  free;  I 
have  promised  to  love  someone  whom  I  met  last 
year — I  am  to  marry  him  in  the  spring." 

He  did  not  give  any  violent  start  when  she  had 
spoken.  He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
a  word  that  she  had  said,  or  as  if  he  were  trying, 
but  failing,  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  her  words. 
Then  he  became  deathly  pale.  In  her  firmness 
of  the  moment  she  was  able  to  watch  him.  He 
caught  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  then  he  turned 
on  his  saddle  and  looked  out  over  the  wide 
stretch  of  country  that  lay  beneath  him — "the 
living  landscape  and  the  wave  of  woods."  He 
continued  gazing  out  over  the  shallow  valley  in 


148  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

silence  for  a  long  time,  as  if  they  had  ridden  to 
the  Knoll  solely  to  enjoy  the  prospect. 

Mary  Chaworth  had  become  fully  composed 
since  she  had  made  her  confession  to  him.  When 
she  spoke  to  him  there  was  no  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  Dear  Cousin  Byron,"  she  said,  "we  have  been 
two  good  comrades,  you  and  I.  We  have  been 
as  much  together  as  if  we  were  brother  and  sister. 
Surely  you  will  not  be  the  one  to  let  our  happy 
friendship — our  affectionate  friendship — be  shat- 
tered because  in  a  moment  of  excitement — of 
thoughtlessness — you  fancied  that — that — some- 
thing else  was  possible — some  other  affection — 
perhaps  a  less  enduring  affection,  Byron." 

He  wheeled  round  upon  her  in  his  saddle. 

"You  are  to  marry  another  man,  and  yet  you 
dare  not  deny  that  I  am  the  man  whom  you  love," 
he  said. 

Her  self-possession  vanished  in  a  moment. 

"  Spare  me,  Byron ;  oh,  spare  me ;  do  not  be  so 
cruel — so  unjust,"  she  said. 

"  One  of  us  has  been  cruel — unjust ;  I  ask  you, 
have  I  been  that  one,  Mary  ? " 

"I  was  to  blame — I  was  to  blame,  I  admit  it, 
but " 

"Tell  me  if  you  dare  that  you  do  not  love 
me." 

She  looked  away  from  him.  He  saw  the  at- 
tempt that  she  was  making  to  compose  herself  once 
more.  Every  moment  that  she  spent  over  the 
effort  was  a  moment  of  triumph  to  him.  But  so 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  149 

long  a  space  passed  before  she  succeeded,  he 
ceased  to  pity  himself,  and  began  to  pity  her. 

"My  poor  Mary!"  he  said;  but  before  he  had 
quite  uttered  the  words,  she  was  facing  him. 

"You  insult  me,"  she  cried.  "Pity?  Did  I 
ask  you  for  your  pity?  What  right  have  you  to 
pity  me?  Why  should  you  pity  me?  Pity  your- 
self, if  you  wish,  for  it  is  you  who  have  need  of 
it — you  who  have  misunderstood  the  interest 
which  I  took  in  you — the  affection  which  I  freely 
gave  you  because  I  saw  that  you  stood  in  need  of 
it,  on  account  of  your  temperament — on  account 
of  your  unhappy  surroundings — you  mistook  that 
for — for  something  quite  different.  Oh,  just 
think  of  everything  that  has  happened  from  the 
standpoint  of  someone  of  experience  of  the  world. 
I  do  not  mean  to  be  cruel  when  I  say  what  you 
know  to  be  the  truth,  that  if  any  of  our  friends 
were  to  hear  of  this — of  my  trying  to  talk  to  you 
so  seriously,  they  would  laugh,  thinking  of  you  only 
as  a  schoolboy — but  they  would  laugh  at  me  more 
heartily  still.  Oh,  yes,  they  would  be  convulsed, 
but  then,  they  would  shake  their  heads  and  say 
that  at  my  age  I  should  have  known  better  than 
to  talk  to  you  as  if  you  were  a  man.  Oh,  Byron, 
do  not  be  angry  with  me  for  speaking  such  cruel 
words  to  you.  I  speak  them  because  I  am  so 
fond  of  you,  and  I  know  that  you  will  be  less  un- 
happy, detesting  me  for  speaking  them  than  you 
would  be  in  cherishing  a  hopeless — hopeless — 
delusion." 


150  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

He  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  her  face  all  the 
time  that  she  was  speaking.  But  his  expression 
was  never  the  same  from  one  sentence  to  another. 
Her  words  seemed  to  be  as  breaths  of  air,  and  his 
features  as  the  surface  of  water  on  which  they 
were  playing  on  a  day  of  varying  lights  and 
shadows.  His  lips  quivered  at  moments,  his 
forehead  became  lined,  he  flushed  crimson,  he 
paled,  he  shivered,  he  became  livid,  his  eyes 
flashed  and  flamed,  and  then  became  dull  and 
hard.  Within  a  few  minutes  he  underwent  all 
the  emotions  that  a  man  may  experience  in  a 
lifetime.  His  temperament  was  that  of  an 
^Eolian  harp  that  is  affected  by  every  breath — 
sensitive,  high-strung — and  his  features  responded 
to  every  beat  of  his  heart.  She  felt,  watching  his 
ever-changing  face,  as  if  she  were  listening  to  a 
subtle  musical  piece  modulating  emotionally  from 
key  to  key. 

The  result  of  the  effort  which  she  made  was  to 
leave  her  palpitating,  and  to  leave  him  smiling, 
as  though  he  had  become  a  man  of  the  world 
within  the  space  of  her  speech. 

"Poor  Mary!"  he  said,  with  that  shivering 
smile  upon  his  face.  "Poor  Mary!  I  see  the 
truth  now ;  I  see  the  effort  that  you  have  made  on 
my  behalf — and  on  your  own.  I  see  now  that 
your  anxiety  for  my  going  away  is  due  to  your 
mistrust  of  yourself.  You  know  that  I  love  you, 
and  that  you  love  me.  You  dare  not  trust  me 
any  longer  near  you.  You  think  that,  separated, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  151 

I  shall  forgive,  and  you  will  forget.  I  tell  you 
that  you  are  too  late — you  are  too  late — your 
own  true  heart  tells  you  that  you  are  too  late." 

"Look  there,"  she  cried,  pointing  with  her 
riding  whip  down  among  the  woods.  "Look 
there!  That  is  the  man  whom  I  am  going  to 
marry  in  six  months.  That  is  the  man,  and  he 
is  coming  here  to  meet  me." 

She  spoke  eagerly;  the  words  seemed  to  flash 
from  her.  Her  face,  pallid  and  anxious  at  first, 
became  rosy  and  rigid.  She  was  looking  at  the 
advancing  figure  on  horseback,  and  her  eyes  were 
those  of  the  commander  of  a  troop  of  soldiers 
watching  the  movements  of  an  enemy.  She 
gazed  down  from  the  hill  crowned  with  the  trees. 
Her  lips  were  parted;  she  was  breathing  quickly 
— audibly.  Suddenly,  she  cast  a  glance  behind 
her,  just  as  the  soldier  might,  with  a  view  to  dis- 
cover a  tract  of  retreat — only  for  a  moment,  how- 
ever ;  the  next  moment  she  had  risen  in  her  saddle, 
and  was  waving  her  riding  gauntlets  high  in  the 
air,  crying  aloud  in  the  shrill  notes  of  one  who 
wishes  one's  voice  to  travel  far,  the  huntsman 
halloo  when  the  object  of  the  chase  is  run  to 
earth.  Three  times  she  sent  that  note  ringing 
through  the  still  air. 

The  man  on  the  horse,  riding  up  the  gentle  de- 
clivity from  the  woods,  waved  his  hunting  crop 
and  returned  the  halloo! 

Byron  sat  motionless  on  his  horse.  He  was  not 
part  of  the  picture. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  under  the  white  blossoms  of  a  great  thorn 
one  morning  in  the  following  April  that  he 
read  his  letter,  not  for  the  first  time.  The 
shadow  of  the  autumn,  and  the  gloom  of  the  win- 
ter had  passed  over  the  land.  People  had  been 
talking  everywhere  of  the  approaching  terror — 
Bonaparte.  The  victory  of  Trafalgar  had  been 
the  one  brilliant  spot  on  the  edge  of  the  darkness, 
but  out  of  the  smoke  and  din  of  the  battle  the 
grim  spectre  which  had  been  hovering  over  Europe 
like  the  phantom  of  Pestilence  in  a  picture, 
emerged,  blackened  by  the  fire  of  Nelson's  guns, 
but  still  in  the  eyes  of  England  the  incarnation 
of  Evil,  and  potent  for  mischief. 

The  woodland  spaces  over  which  Byron  had 
looked  from  the  Knoll  had  shrivelled  from  russet 
brown  to  gold,  and  later  on  had  become  sparsely 
black,  massive  trunks  flinging  forth  frantic  arms 
on  every  side,  from  which  thousands  of  thread- 
like twigs  etched  the  dull  skies.  Then  there  was 
a  long  snow,  making  the  world  a  wonder  to  all 
who  looked  out  upon  it,  and  before  it  had  wholly 
melted,  the  delicate  green  buds  began  to  unfold 
themselves  cautiously  and  coyly  until  the  daffo- 
dils of  March  had  drunk  deep  draughts  of  sunshine. 

152 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  153 

Then,  with  ceaseless  songs  from  bower  and  break 
— a  cascade  of  mingling  melodies,  flinging  its 
pellucid  streams  to  every  breeze  that  blew — the 
emerald  spring  lay  upon  the  land. 

And  now  Byron,  who  had  dreamed  his  dream 
with-  the  autumn  landscape  before  his  eyes  and 
the  autumn  atmosphere  clinging  with  cold  mist 
fingers  about  his  heart,  was  sitting  beneath  the 
genial  snow  of  the  hawthorn  reading  his  letter. 

It  was  not  a  farewell  letter  by  any  means.  It 
looked  forward,  as  well  as  back. 

"You  will  be  at  Newstead  in  a  year  or  two, 
and  we  shall  be  at  Annesley  and  Colwick,  so  that 
we  shall  be  within  reach  of  each  other's  hands  at 
all  times.  Dear,  dear  cousin,  you  know  that  I 
shall  ever  look  forward  to  see  you,  to  meet  your 
hand,  and,  in  holding  it,  to  hold  once  more  to  my 
life  at  least  one  week  of  my  past,  which  was  made 
sweet  with  your  friendship.  Surely  there  is  no- 
thing so  well  worth  the  cherishing  as  friendship — 
such  friendship  as  ours — I  was  going  to  add  was, 
but  now  I  write  is — such  friendship  as  ours  is — • 
yes,  and  ever  shall  remain,  dear,  dear  Byron.  We 
shall  cherish  this  feeling  between  us,  and  I  cannot 
doubt  that  we  shall  find  it  the  sweetest  part  of 
our  lives. 

"  Only  one  more  word  to  my  dear  Byron ;  and 
this  is  to  urge  him  to  refrain  from  saying  in  too 
great  haste  what  is  a  sorrow  and  what  is  a  joy — 
what  is  a  good  thing  to  happen  to  us  in  our  life, 


154  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

and  what  is  an  evil  thing.  I  am  not  very  old, 
but  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  be  made  aware  of 
this — something  that  happens  to  us  we  may  be 
disposed  at  the  time  to  think  the  greatest  mis- 
fortune that  could  possibly  overtake  us,  and  to 
despair  of  life  altogether  on  account  of  it;  but 
before  a  year  has  passed — sometimes  before  even 
a  month — I  have  found  out  that  it  was  not  a 
a  misfortune,  but  a  blessing.  And  the  same 
thing  has  happened  when  I  was  overjoyed  at 
what  I  believed  to  be  one  of  Fortune's  good  turns 
on  my  behalf.  A  day  was  often  enough  to  change 
all  my  ideas  on  that  particular  point.  Who  are 
we  that  would  presume  to  say  that  we  know 
better  than  Heaven  what  things  are  for  our  good? 

"  That  is  all ;  only  let  me  implore  of  you  to  let 
your  great  consolation  be  (next  to  Heaven)  in  all 
moments  of  grief  and  disappointment,  Poetry. 
Do  not  cut  yourself  off  from  that  which  will  help 
you  to  bear  manfully  with  the  worst  that  life  may 
have  in  store  for  you,  and  to  help  others  in  the 
world,  who  may  read  what  you  have  written,  to 
bear  their  burdens  with  bravery.  I  have  a  right 
to  say  this  to  you,  have  I  not?  Being,  as  you 
once  said  I  was,  your  poetic  godmother,  I  con- 
sider it  my  duty  to  keep  your  feet  from  straying 
into  other  ways.  You  are  a  poet — I  am  as  certain 
of  that  as  one  can  be  of  anything  in  this  world. 
And,  remember,  that  to  be  a  poet  is  to  be  the 
greatest  of  all  God's  creatures. 

"  I  do  not  say  farewell,  dear  Byron,  but  good- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  155 

bye — in  its  full  meaning — God  be  with  you,  my 
dear  cousin,  and  with  me.  If  God  be  with  you, 
and  also  with  me,  then,  indeed,  shall  we  not  be 
always  together? 

"MARY." 

"  A  poet — the  greatest  of  all  God's  creatures — 
perhaps  the  greatest;  certainly  the  most  miser- 
able," said  Byron,  still  looking  at  the  letter  which 
lay  on  his  knees,  where  he  sat.  The  sunlight 
breaking  through  the  hawthorn  blossoms,  made 
a  pattern  on  the  paper  of  alternate  light  and 
shade.  He  saw  that,  and,  seeing  it  with  the  eyes 
of  a  poet,  he  said : 

"  That  is  my  life — a  page  of  brilliant  light  and 
sombre  shadows.  .  .  .  After  all,  the  design  is 
traced,  not  by  the  splashes  of  sunshine,  but  by  the 
shadows.  That  is  what  makes  life  interesting — 
yes,  to  the  people  who  look  on.  .  .  .  That  is 
what  it  is  to  be  a  poet — to  live  for  those  who  look 
on.  That  is  what  I  shall  live  for  from  to-day — 
for  the  lookers-on.  I  would  have  lived  for  her 
only — caring  for  no  one  else — thinking  only  of 
what  I  could  do  for  her,  separated  from  the  world 
that  I  hate;  but  now  I  shall  live  for  what  the 
world  can  give  me.  I  do  not  know  what  it  can 
give  me,  but  I  know  what  it  cannot  give  me." 

This  genius,  with  the  feelings  of  a  man,  was  be- 
ginning to  be  conscious  of  the  dictation  of  another 
force  within  him,  namely,  experience,  whose 
function  it  is  to  play  the  part  of  the  worldly 


156  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

director  of  genius;  genius  is  its  own  spiritual 
director.  A  genius  without  experience  of  life  is 
like  a  boat  without  a  rudder.  A  genius  with  ex- 
perience of  life  and  the  feelings  of  a  man  is  a  boat 
with  a  rudder  and  a  steersman  who  is  drunk  half 
his  time,  and  spends  the  other  half  getting  off  the 
rocks  on  which  he  has  run  his  craft. 

And  all  the  while  the  world  looks  on,  and  talks 
of  ballast  and  quicksands  and  the  need  of  a  com- 
pass and  of  laying  out  a  course  with  parallel  rulers 
on  the  chart. 

Byron  stared  down  upon  the  paper  on  his 
knees;  and  as  he  stared  it  became,  not  a  paper 
through  which  Mary  Chaworth  was  speaking  to 
him  with  the  voice  of  an  angel,  it  became  a  war- 
rant to  him  to  taste  of  the  world,  and  to  tell  the 
world  what  it  tasted  like ;  it  became  a  passport  to 
the  Pit,  only  written  with  a  quill  plucked  from  an 
angel's  wing;  it  became  material  for  crumpling 
into  wads  for  closing  the  ears  of  conscience. 

Looking  out  where  the  boughs  of  his  hawthorn 
canopy  opened  toward  the  Italian  garden,  he  saw 
a  figure  smiling  into  his  face.  He  was  startled 
for  a  moment,  but  before  he  had  risen  and  taken 
a  step  toward  the  jester,  he  knew  what  it  was — 
the  marble  figure  of  a  satyr  leering  toward  him 
out  of  the  curve  of  an  arch  of  clambering  roses, 
only  the  roses  were  not  yet. 

He  laughed,  saying: 

"  Brother — my  elder  brother,  you  are  in  search 
of  me,  and  you  have  found  me.  I  am  ready — 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  157 

quite  ready.  We  shall  go  off  together,  you  and 
I,  for  a  day  in  the  woods,  and  I  shall  grow  so  like 
you  that  the  fairies  will  take  us  for  twins.  You 
shall  teach  me  all  your  knowledge — that  par- 
ticular knowledge  which  makes  you  smile  the 
smile  of  a  Scotch  professor  of  humanities.  Per- 
haps, in  time,  I  shall  acquire  that  very  smile. 
All  that  is  demanded  of  a  man  in  order  to  acquire 
it  is  that  he  should  become  a  beast,  and  that  is  no 
inordinate  demand  to  put  upon  even  the  best  of 
us." 

The  boy  with  the  large  eyes  of  the  dreamer  of 
dreams,  and  the  Apollo  curls  of  bright  chestnut 
clustering  and  curving  over  his  forehead  as  the 
ripples  of  a  fast-flowing  stream  wimple  over  a 
smooth  pebble  in  their  path,  looked  like  a  young 
god  facing  the  satyr;  but  even  as  he  spoke  his 
lips  took  something  of  the  lewd,  leering  curve  of 
the  brute  lips  before  him. 

And  then  a  loud  laugh  came  from  the  stone 
monster,  startling  the  young  god,  for  it  was  just 
the  laugh  that  might  be  expected  to  come  from 
that  wrinkled  face,  bearded  and  horned  like  a 
he-goat,  and  with  the  ears  of  the  wild  asses  that 
do  quench  their  thirst  otherwhere  than  at  the 
water-brooks. 

Another  outburst  of  laughter — hoarser,  and 
with  a  horrid  modulation  into  a  falsetto,  came 
from  the  creature,  and  while  Byron  still  remained 
startled,  Vince  showed  himself  from  behind  the 
stone  pedestal. 


158  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Byron  laughed,  but  not  until  the  other  was 
silent. 

"  By  my  faith,  Vince,  you  play  the  part  of  Pan 
to  the  life,"  he  said. 

"Your  lordship  flatters  his  most  servile  ser- 
vant," said  the  man.  "  I  saw  you  staring  at  our 
worshipful  brother  here,  and  I  thought  that  I 
could  give  him  a  soul." 

"  You  are  the  man  who  would  make  the  god  in 
your  own  image,"  said  Byron.  "And,  lo,  the 
god  that  you  made  turned  out  a  devil  when  you 
had  made  him." 

"Ay,  but  this  poor  devil  was  only  a  lord,"  said 
Vince. 

"He  and  I  have  something  in  common — look 
at  his  feet,"  said  Byron.  "I  '11  swear  that  if  he 
were  to  walk  it  would  be  with  my  limp.  But  if  I 
resemble  him  at  the  feet,  you  resemble  him  about 
the  head;  you  have  the  ear  and  the  leer  and  the 
jeer  of  the  satyr,  Mr.  Vince." 

"  And  I  find  the  three  very  human  in  combina- 
tion, my  Lord  Byron,"  said  Vince.  "A  very 
pleasing  trio,  like  that  delightful  one  in  Don  Juan, 
invented  by  Mozart,  the  master  of  melodies, 
human  and  divine.  But  the  truth  is  that  his  late 
lordship,  my  father  and  your  father's  uncle, 
found  this  particular  piece  of  scuplture  among  the 
ruins  of  a  portion  of  the  old  Priory  of  Newstead 
—though  what  part  it  played  in  the  ecclesiastical 
economy  of  the  religious  house  it  is  difficult  to 
say." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  159 

"Look  at  his  horns  and  his  feet,"  said  Byron. 
"  Do  not  they  hint  at  an  important  personage  in 
religious  history?" 

"  No  one  could  doubt  it ;  but  do  you  fancy  that 
they  needed  to  import  a  stone  devil  into  a  com- 
munity of  men — religious  men,  too?  Don't  you 
think  that  the  nearest  lay  brother  would  be  able 
to  play  the  part  well  enough  for  them?" 

"Why  lay  brother?"  said  Byron. 

"Why  lay,  indeed!"  laughed  Vince.  "Men  are 
men,  whether  capped,  cowled,  or  coroneted. 
When  coroneted  they  usually  rise  to  the  dignity 
of  devils.  Anyhow,  his  lordship  found  the  figure, 
and  had  it  carried  here  with  a  view  of  frightening 
trespassers  off  the  grounds.  It  served  its  purpose 
admirably.  So  soon  as  it  became  known  that  his 
lordship  had  found  it  more  economical  to  keep  a 
devil  than  a  dog,  he  had  all  the  park  to  himself, 
and  then,  of  course,  the  story  got  about  that  he 
had  sold  himself  to  the  evil  one.  Such  a  story! 
We  have  heard  of  fathers  selling  their  offspring, 
but  never  of  the  offspring  seeking  to  dispose  of 
himself  to  his  parent." 

"It  may  get  about,  if  they  notice  the  resem- 
blance between  our  feet,  that  I  cultivated  my 
style  from  this  model!" 

"That  depends  on  your  morals;  there  were 
poachers  who  averred  that  they  had  come  upon 
his  late  lordship  in  the  park,  and  that  he  had 
pointed  ears  and  a  cloven  hoof.  His  lordship 
was  delighted  to  attain  to  such  a  distinction." 


160  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  'T  is  a  pity  we  could  not  hear  if  the  demon 
felt  equally  flattered  by  the  resemblance." 

"  He  would  have  a  right  to  be  flattered  did  it 
reach  his  pointed  ears  that  he  was  ever  taken  for 
you.  I  wonder  where  you  got  that  Antinous 
head  that  you  wear.  Had  the  Admiral  a  curly 
head?  I  have  only  seen  his  portrait  with  a  wig. 
Your  own  dad  was  as  impudent  as  Apollo,  with- 
out his  curls  or  accomplishments.  I  ask  your 
pardon.  I  apologise  for  Apollo.  I  recollect  that 
you  only  agreed  to  come  here  on  condition  that 
I  refrained  from  affronting  your  memories." 

"You  would  do  well  to  remember  that,  Mr. 
Vince.  I  made  you  understand  that  no  word  of 
affront  respecting  my  father  or  mother  must  pass 
your  lips." 

"Have  not  I  been  careful  hitherto?  In  spite 
of  an  almost  irresistible  temptation,  have  I  yet 
done  worse  than  to  compare  Mad  Jack  to  the 
god  Apollo?  And  yet,  the  opportunity  was 
afforded  me  of  comparing  him  to  Marsyas  the 
satyr,  who  was  more  impudent  even  than  Apollo, 
only  he  went  too  far  one  day,  and — by  the  Lord 
Harry,  I  marvel  that  it  never  occurred  to  an  in- 
ventive sculptor  of  the  Doric  province  to  make  a 
figure  with  the  head  of  Apollo  and  the  feet  of  a 
Pan?  Psha!  Of  course,  you  know  that  I  am  not 
so  brutal  and  so  idiotic  to  boot — don't  think  that 
I  aim  at  a,  cheap  pun — as  to  suggest  even  in  a  far- 
off  way,  that  you — your  feet  are  like  men's  feet — 
with  a  difference  of  about  an  eighth  of  an  inch — 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  161 

they  in  no  way  resemble  the  hoof  of  a  Pan.  No, 
I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  apt,  whatever  else  I 
may  be.  But  do  you  not  think  that  Apollo,  with 
the  ear  of  a  wild  ass,  and  the  foot  of  a  goat 

"I  believe  that  if  the  devil  became  a  sculptor 
that  would  be  his  first  work." 

"  It  would  be  a  masterpiece,  beyond  doubt. 
But  he  never  works  in  marble;  he  finds  that 
human  clay  is  a  much  more  plastic  medium." 

"  Only  it  does  n't  last  so  long.  What  about 
our  ride?" 

Vince  looked  at  his  watch  critically.  He 
seemed  to  be  making  a  brief  mental  calculation, 
and  then  he  said : 

"  I  have  ordered  the  horses  for  eleven  o'clock 
— that  is,  ten  minutes  from  now.  You  will  draw 
on  boots — you  have  just  time." 

He  went  into  Vince 's  cottage  within  the 
grounds  of  Newstead,  where  he  had  been  staying 
for  some  days.  Lord  Grey  de  Ruthen,  the  tenant 
in  Chancery  of  Newstead  Abbey,  had,  on  return- 
ing to  England  and  learning  that  the  young  Lord 
Byron  had  made  an  unannounced  attempt  to 
enter  the  mansion,  sent  him  a  courteous  message 
to  inform  him  that  instructions  had  been  given 
to  the  servants  to  place  at  the  disposal  of  his 
lordship  a  set  of  rooms,  and  he  trusted  his 
lordship  would  honour  his  humble  tenant  by 
making  use  of  them  freely  and  at  his  pleasure. 
This  courteous  expression  of  paradox  Byron 
acknowledged  from  his  rooms  at  Trinity  College, 


1 62  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Cambridge,  thanking  Lord  Grey  de  Ruthen  for 
his  gracious  message,  and  expressing  the  hope 
that  during  the  summer  he  would  be  permitted 
to  trespass  on  his  lordship's  hospitality  for  a 
night  or  two. 

Meantime,  however,  Vince,  the  man  whose  hos- 
pitality Byron  had  once  had  an  opportunity  of 
measuring  for  an  hour  or  two,  had  come  in  con- 
tact with  him  again,  and  had  offered  him  an 
apology  for  his  too  great  freedom  of  speech  upon 
the  previous  occasion  that  they  had  met,  and 
Byron,  accepting  his  apology,  had  been  curiously 
attracted  to  him  once  again.  The  sardonic 
humour,  the  mordant  cynicism  of  the  man, 
found  an  echo  in  Byron's  mood  at  that  time ;  for 
he  differed  from  most  sensitive  young  men  only 
in  being  able  to  make  a  brilliant  response  to  a 
rebuff.  While  others  are  compelled  to  be  content 
to  feel  chastely  severe  upon  a  world  that  holds 
someone  vulgar  enough  to  hurt  their  sense  of 
their  own  dignity,  Byron  soon  found  himself  with 
a  lash  of  scorpions  in  his  hand,  which  he  wielded 
upon  the  world  in  general  and  upon  certain  of  its 
writhing  inhabitants  in  particular.  He  emulated, 
and  not  without  success,  the  achievement  of  his 
master,  Apollo,  upon  the  satyr,  Marsyas,  which 
had  been  appreciatively  mentioned  by  Vince, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two  a  good  many 
Marsyasses  who  had  offended  him  were  crawling 
about  with  raw  flesh. 

He  found  in  Vince  a  congenial  companion  upon 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  163 

occasions  for  some  weeks  before  going  to  Cam- 
bridge, and  when,  the  following  Easter,  he  paid 
a  visit  to  his  mother  at  Southwell,  and  had  his 
customary  quarrel  with  her,  it  was  not  to  the 
mansion  at  Newstead  he  fled,  but  to  Vince's 
cottage;  and  there  he  had  remained  a  week 
previous  to  receiving  Mary  Chaworth's  letter, 
which  he  read  beneath  the  snowy  boughs  of  the 
hawthorn. 

In  ten  minutes  the  horses  had  been  brought 
round  to  the  carriage  drive,  where  it  was  met  by 
the  carefully  masked  winding  track  leading  to  the 
cottage. 

"What  direction  to-day?"  asked  Byron,  when 
they  had  mounted. 

"  I  hear  that  Gorleston  banks  are  a  sight  with 
primroses,"  said  Vince.  "We  have  not  yet  been 
there,  and  a  primrose  bank  is  nearly  as  untrust- 
worthy as  one  whose  basis  is  guineas  of  the  same 
colour." 

"Good!"  cried  Byron.  "We  shall  become  in- 
nocent Wordsworthians  for  the  day.  Heavens! 
Vince,  can  you  tolerate  his  puerilities?" 

"  I  am  easily  tolerant  when  I  see  another  man 
making  himself  ridiculous, ' '  said  Vince.  "  Words- 
worth always  seems  to  me  to  be  like  a  child  play- 
ing with  a  plaster  lamb  in  the  open  air.  He 
thinks  that,  because  he  takes  you  with  him  into 
the  open  air,  you  will  accept  his  Noah's  ark  as 
real." 

"And  Coleridge  picks  up  his  toy  donkey  and 


1 64  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

its  foal  and  fancies  that  you  will  back  them  for 
the  laureate  stakes,"  said  Byron.  "By  the  god 
Phcebus,  Vince,  there  is  more  poetry  in  this  than 
in  all  Wordsworth!" 

He  put  his  horse  at  a  low  bank  porcupined  by 
a  hedge  of  straight  privet,  and  went  over  it  and 
into  the  spacious  meadow  beyond.  He  had  gal- 
loped half  a  mile  across  the  turf  before  he  drew 
rein,  allowing  Vince  to  come  up  to  him. 

"  That  is  the  ideal  way  of  going  through  with  an 
argument,"  said  Vince.  "You  announce  your 
proposition  and  then  gallop  off  before  one  can 
point  out  its  fallacy  to  you.  Could  anything  be 
more  ridiculous  than  to  draw  a  comparison  be- 
tween the  innocent  iambics  of  the  poet  and  the 
galloping  anapests  of  a  young  Arab  steed?" 

"Nothing  indeed,"  said  Byron.  "The  one 
warms  up  your  blood;  the  other  leaves  you  cold 
and  unmoved.  Hush,  what  metre  is  that  those 
church  bells  are  ringing?  can  you  hear  them?" 

They  pulled  up  their  horses  on  the  rising 
ground,  and  listened.  A  lark  sprang  up  from  the 
grass  close  to  them,  and  soared  aloft,  singing  in 
ecstasy,  and  then  a  second  arose  from  where  the 
land  dipped  toward  the  little  river;  but  above 
their  quivering  notes  there  floated  through  the 
clear  morning  air  a  joyous  peal  of  bells,  varying 
in  distinctness  with  every  breeze,  and  every  breeze 
that  came  to  them  laden  with  sound  was  laden 
with  scent — the  dewy  perfume  of  the  spring 
meadowland. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  165 

"Those  are  the  bells  of  Gorston,"  said  Vince. 
"The  people  are  very  proud  of  them,  and  they 
lose  no  opportunity  of  letting  the  world  learn 
how  full-toned  they  are.  But  the  world  is  cruel; 
people  have  been  heard  to  affirm  that  the  fact  of 
every  bell-ringer  being  provided  with  a  full  quart 
of  beer  when  he  goes  on  duty  in  accordance  with 
the  terms  of  the  benefaction  of  the  bells  has  got 
something  to  do  with  the  devotional  ardour  in  the 
belfry." 

"There  is  more  ringing  going  on,"  said  Byron. 
"I  can  hear  a  wavering  jingle  from  Elfrihurst 
steeple." 

They  sat  motionless  on  their  horses  in  the  at- 
titude of  attentive  listeners.  The  air  throbbed 
with  the  sound  of  the  joy  bells  coming  from  the 
two  distant  churches,  and  quivered  with  the 
ecstasy  of  the  larks  overhead. 

"  Some  joyful  event  has  happened,"  said  Byron. 
"Can  it  be  that  Bonaparte  has  shot  himself?" 

"Or  that  the  Prince  has  been  shot  by  some 
true  patriot?  "  suggested  Vince. 

"The  villagers  have  no  sense  of  proportion," 
said  Byron.  "  They  would  ring  just  as  heartily 
if  one  of  their  curates  was  getting  married  as  they 
would  if  Paris  was  entered  by  the  Allies." 

"Let  us  get  down  to  the  road;  we  may  find 
that  something  of  importance  has  happened," 
said  Vince. 

They  walked  their  horses  down  the  gentle  slope, 
among  the  clumps  of  primroses  to  where  the 


1 66  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

coach  road  twisted  round  the  high  bank  that  stood 
like  a  headland  at  the  bottom  of  Crowleigh  woods, 
and  then  went  on  to  Annesley  Hall  in  a  straight 
line.  The  village  church  of  Gorston  was  half  a 
mile  away  in  the  other  direction. 

"  'T  is  a  wedding,  after  all,  and  of  the  parson's 
daughter,"  said  Vince,  when  they  had  halted 
their  horses  at  the  long  green  hedge  overlooking 
the  road.  He  pointed  with  his  whip  to  the  lines 
of  school  children  dressed  in  white  garments,  and 
at  a  befitting  distance,  the  double  row  of  the 
Windstay  charity  girls  wearing  their  red  cloaks 
and  white  straw  bonnets.  All  carried  baskets  of 
primroses  and  bluebells  and  other  spring  flowers, 
and  a  garland  of  the  same  was  festooned  between 
the  trees  across  the  road.  The  children  were 
chattering  and  craning  their  heads  beyond  the 
ranks  in  which  they  stood,  in  the  direction  of  the 
church. 

"Only  the  wedding  of  a  parson's  daughter 
would  call  for  such  a  display  of  duty  and  devo- 
tion," continued  Vince.  "Hallo,  what  has  hap- 
pened to  you,  my  lord?" 

"Happened  to  me?"  said  Byron.  "What 
should  have  happened  to  me?" 

"  Nothing,  only  you  have  become  as  pale  as  a 
ghost,  as  pale  as  if  you  were  going  to  be  married 
yourself." 

"  You  are  a  fool! "  said  Byron.  "  I  am  no  more 
pale  than  you  are.  What  do  I  care  if — if — if  all 
the  parsons'  daughters  in  the  county  were  getting 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  167 

married  to  all  the  curates?  But  I  think  there  is 
a  chill  in  the  air — I  have  felt  it  now  and  again.  I 
am  going  to  have  a  canter  to  bring  back  the  blood 
to  my  face." 

Vince  gave  a  loud  laugh. 

"What,"  he  cried.  "Have  you  had  a  rebuff 
already,  that  you  now  cannot  trust  your  nerves  to 
sustain  you  against  so  embittering  a  pageant  as  a 
bridal  party?  Oh,  fie,  my  Lord  Byron!  You 
will  set  us  all  thinking  strange  things.  And  I 
gave  you  credit  for  being  a  man!" 

"What  a  fuss  you  make  over  nothing!"  said 
Byron,  with  irritation.  "Good  heavens,  man, 
why  should  I  not  go  away  if  I  like,  or  stay  if  I  like? 
What  the  deuce  are  your  parsons'  blowsy  daugh- 
ters to  me?" 

"  Nothing ;  therefore,  it  would  be  folly  for  you 
to  run  away  at  this  time,"  said  Vince.  "  There  is 
really  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  Let  the  galled 
jade  wince;  our  withers  are  unwrung,  my  lord." 

"Psha!  There  is  no  question  of  being  afraid," 
said  Byron.  "  Lud,  Vince,  do  you  suppose  that  I 
fear  that  the  vicar  has  a  second  blowsy  daughter 
yet  undisposed  of,  whom  he  may  insist  on  my 
marrying  before  noon?" 

"  It  is  no  vicar's  daughter  that  is  being  married 
to-day.  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  't  is  the 
wedding  day  of  your  distant  cousin,  Miss  Cha- 
worth,  to  Mr.  Musters,  of  Colwick.  How  could  I 
have  forgotten  it?  How  could  you  have  for- 
gotten it,  considering  that  you  are  among  the 


1 68  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

bride's  relations — ay,  and  considering  also  that 
you  were  so  recent  a  guest  at  Annesley  Hall,  and 
that  you  and  Miss  Chaworth  enjoyed  so  many 
excursions  on  horseback  together  in  the  autumn? 
It  would  never  do  for  you  to  run  away  just  when 
the  cavalcade  is  in  sight,  my  Lord  Byron ;  though 
doubtless  there  are  many  people  who  will  ask  how 
it  is  that  you  are  not  in  one  of  those  carriages — 
not  the  foremost,  of  course — that  is  the  carriage 
of  the  bride  and  bridegroom — it  would  be  absurd 
to  think  of  your  occupying  a  seat  in  that  carriage, 
would  it  not?  But — ah,  here  they  come.  Oh, 
no,  you  are  not  pale  any  longer — quite  the  con- 
trary. Here  they  come.  Oh,  those  children! 
What  an  epithalamium!" 

There  was  an  appearance  of  outriders  in  the 
distance  in  the  Chaworth  livery,  followed  by  a 
carriage  with  four  white  horses,  ridden  by  pos- 
tilions in  silver-braided  waistcoats — the  sunlight 
was  gleaming  upon  these  in  the  distance.  The 
school  children,  under  the  time-beating  fore- 
finger of  a  young  lady — she  was  the  vicar's 
daughter,  who  had  a  genius  for  organisation — 
had  begun  to  lilt  an  old  English  melody  to  the 
verses  written  for  the  occasion  by  the  school- 
master, and  were  grasping  their  bunches  of 
flowers  with  that  firmness  necessary  to  turn  them 
into  successful  projectiles.  On  the  bank,  and 
among  the  twisted  snakes  of  the  exposed  roots  of 
an  undermined  elm,  ruddy  dairymaids  and  rubi- 
cund farm-labourers  sat,  or  squatted,  or  swung, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  169 

and  began  to  cheer  early,  until  the  parson's 
daughter  held  up  a  protesting  hand,  not  without 
a  suspicion  of  chiding. 

"Children  to  the  fore!"  was  the  cry  that  ap- 
pealed to  the  sense  of  fair  play  of  the  elders,  and 
the  epithalamium  slurred  its  course  into  the 
bright  air.  The  schoolmaster,  wearing  the  con- 
scious smile  of  the  approved  poet,  stood  retired 
behind  the  hedge  of  willows  to  mark  the  effect  of 
his  poem.  He  became  irritated  at  the  omissions, 
substitutions,  and  mispronunciations  of  his  in- 
terpreters. 

The  outriders  trotted  up,  and  then  no  power 
had  any  control  over  the  labourers — they  cheered, 
the  children  yelled,  the  many  dogs  barked,  the 
infants  in  their  mothers'  arms  wailed. 

There  she  sat  in  the  open  carriage  by  the  side 
of — her  husband;  he  had  been  her  husband  for 
the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  She  was  as 
pale  as  the  orange  blooms  that  clustered  about  the 
diamonds  fastening  her  lace  veil ;  but  there  was  a 
smile  upon  her  face  when  she  came  among  the 
white  school  children.  The  carriage  went  slowly 
while  the  wild  flower  tributes  were  flung  into 
the  air,  and  fell  about  the  carriage,  some  upon  the 
pink  coat  of  the  bridegroom,  and  some  upon  the 
golden  hair  of  the  bride.  They  were  dislodged  by 
her  bowing,  but  then  they  rested  on  the  white 
lace,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  an  embroidery 
in  yellow  silk.  She  bowed  to  the  school  children, 
speaking  the  names  of  some  of  them;  then  she 


1 70  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

lifted  her  eyes  to  the  high  bank  where  the  men  and 
maids  were  cheering,  with  much  waving  of  hand- 
kerchiefs. Suddenly  she  looked  at  the  other  side 
and  saw  the  two  horsemen  beyond  the  hedge. 
If  she  felt  surprised,  she  did  not  show  it.  The 
lovely  whiteness  of  her  face,  the  white  of  the 
damask  rose,  did  not  change,  her  lips  parted  for 
an  instant  while  she  looked  at  Byron,  as  if  she 
were  speaking  a  word  to  be  heard  by  herself  alone. 
She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and  he  saw,  the 
moment  that  she  smiled,  the  ineffable  depth  of 
their  sadness.  He  took  off  his  hat,  she  inclined 
her  head,  and  then  made  a  motion  with  one  of  her 
hands;  she  seemed  as  if  she  had  meant  to  wave 
her  hand  to  him,  but  changed  her  mind  at  the 
last  moment. 

That  was  all.  The  carriage  drove  on,  the  hus- 
band bowed  to  right  and  left,  the  epithalamium 
became  a  riot,  and  a  milkmaid  and  her  swain 
who  had  ventured  too  close  to  the  crumbling 
ledge  of  earth,  slipped  and  rolled  down  the  bank 
clutching  at  each  other,  to  the  detriment  of  their 
holiday  clothes.  Thus  the  carriage  rolled  away 
in  a  roar  of  laughter. 

Byron  watched  the  passing  away  of  the  vehicle. 
He  could  see  the  shimmer  of  the  white  lace  that 
only  covered  a  part  of  the  bright  hair  so  long  as 
the  carriage  remained  in  view;  and,  watching  it, 
he  thought  of  the  night  when  he  had  seen  the 
flight  of  meteors.  So  that  was  what  it  meant, 
after  all;  the  golden  star  with  its  trail  of  light 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  171 

which  had  moved  before  his  eyes  across  the  sky 
had  been  a  symbol  of  the  floating  away  of  that 
star  of  golden  light  into  another  world  than  that 
which  it  had  made  gracious  for  a  short  time.  She 
had  gone  out  of  his  world,  out  of  his  life,  leaving 
darkness  where  the  light  of  her  presence  had  once 
shone. 

He  felt  that  there  was  nothing  but  darkness  for 
him  so  long  as  he  lived,  when  that  gleam  of  gold 
waned  away  into  the  distance,  and  his  eyes  were 
staring  into  a  blank  blue  space  of  sky  where  the 
road  made  its  turn,  and  the  carriage  disappeared. 
He  had  not  yet  parted  with  the  thought  that  she 
loved  him,  but  the  cherishing  of  it  gave  him  no 
comfort;  on  the  contrary,  it  made  him  feel  all 
the  more  bitterly  of  a  world  in  which  such  things 
were  possible  as  a  girl  sitting  as  a  bride  by  the  side 
of  one  man,  while  all  the  time  she  loved  another. 
He  felt  that  he  did  right  to  despair  of  such  a 
world,  and  to  hope  that  he  would  be  spared  the 
degradation  of  living  in  it. 

And  then  he  sounded  that  deepest  depth  of 
despair  which  cries  out  a  perpetual  "  Why  ?  why  ? 
why?"  Why  could  not  he  have  met  her  three 
months  sooner  than  he  did?  Why  should  she 
have  given  her  promise  to  that  man  before  she 
had  met  the  one  whom  she  loved  and  who  would 
ever  love  her?  "Why?  why?  why?"  That 
voice  gnawed  at  his  heart  all  the  time  that  he 
watched  her,  and  long  after  she  had  disappeared  in 
the  distance.  And  the  worst  of  all  the  questions 


172  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

that  came  to  him  was  the  fierce  demand  why 
he  had  not  insisted  on  her  breaking  her  promise 
to  the  other  man  when  he  found  out  that  she 
loved,  not  the  other  man,  but  himself?  Why  had 
he  not  carried  her  away  by  night?  This  youth  of 
imagination  felt,  at  the  thought,  the  arms  of  the 
girl  tight  about  his  body,  while  he  fled  with  her 
behind  him  on  the  saddle,  into  the  night — into  a 
land  where  Love  alone  was  lord.  Yesterday — 
last  night — why  had  he  not  done  it  then?  It  was 
time  enough  then;  but  now  it  was  too  late.  He 
had  had  the  agony  of  seeing  her  pass  away  from 
him,  and  it  was  the  other  man  who  would  know 
the  delight  of  feeling  her  sweet  hands  clasping 
him.  It  was  too  late — he  had  lost  her,  and  his 
life  was  over. 

He  had  the  sensation  of  dreaming  a  dream  in 
which  he  had  the  knowledge  that  it  was  a  dream — 
that  the  agony  of  it  all  was  only  visionary — that 
in  a  few  moments  he  would  awaken  and  know 
that  the  bitterness  had  no  real  existence.  He 
watched  as  in  a  sleep  the  passing  of  the  train  of 
carriages,  he  heard  the  cheers  of  the  tenantry, 
but  he  never  felt  that  they  were  real. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  man  who  was  on  the 
horse  beside  him  that  awoke  him. 

"That  is  all  there  is  to  be  seen,  my  Lord  By- 
ron," he  said.  "The  rest  of  the  entertainment  is 
not  for  such  as  you  and  I.  I  was  generous  toward 
her  to-day.  I  did  not  deprive  her  of  the  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  we  were  witnesses  of  her 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  173 

triumph.  A  young  woman's  cup  of  happiness  is 
never  full  unless  she  knows  that  the  men  whom 
she  rejected  have  witnessed  her  in  her  hour  of 
triumph.  She  saw  us." 

Byron  turned  to  him  with  an  astonished  in- 
quiry in  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  knew  that  you  loved  her;  I,  too, 
loved  her  for  a  while,"  said  Vince  in  response. 
"  She  knew  it,  though  I  never  was  fool  enough  to 
confess  it  to  her.  But  you  were  not  quite  so 
reticent,  my  lord.  You  confessed  and  she  laughed 
at  you.  You  were  a  fool  for  your  pains.  Here 
we  are  on  the  same  level  at  last ;  the  head  of  the 
family  and  the  wretch  barred  out  of  the  family 
by  the  bar  sinister.  Love  levels  all;  so  does  re- 
jection. Give  me  your  hand,  man,  never  think 
that  all  joy  has  died  out  of  the  summer  because 
the  rose  we  loved  has  been  plucked  by  another 
hand  than  ours.  You  will  find  your  path  strewn 
with  roses,  and  you  may  gather  them  by  the 
score.  Come  with  me.  We  shall  post  to  London 
to-day,  and  our  cry  shall  be — 

"Forget,"  said  Byron.  "That  shall  be  my 
word — forget." 


PART  II 
CHAPTER  I 

MR.  KEAN  was  to  act  the  part  of  the  Duke  of 
Gloster  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  and 
there  were  few  unoccupied  seats  in  the  house. 

"Has  he  appeared  yet?"  asked  a  young  lady 
in  a  voice  of  tremulous  anxiety  of  her  neighbour 
in  the  boxes,  on  hurrying  to  her  place. 

"Not  yet;  the  curtain  is  still  down,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  So  I  perceive ;  but  he  may  appear  before  the 
play  begins,  and  I  should  die  were  I  to  miss  seeing 
him." 

The  other  lady  stared  at  her,  and  said : 

"  Lud!  my  dear,  how  could  you  hope  to  see  Mr. 
Kean  before  the  play  begins?  You  should  have 
betaken  yourself  to  the  stage  door." 

The  girl  returned  the  stare  of  her  friend. 

"Kean — Mr.  Kean,  who  is  Mr. — Oh,  to  be 
sure,  he  is  the  actor.  Is  he  in  the  play  to-night? 
Of  course,  I  remember  now;  he  does  the  part  of 
Richard  or  Hamlet,  or  someone;  nobody  wants 
to  see  him;  we  have  all  come  to  gaze  at  Childe 
Harold." 

"  I  think  the  town  has  gone  mad  over  your 
174 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  175 

Lord  Byron,"  said  the  other.  "  One  hears  nothing 
else  but '  Byron,  Byron,  Byron,'  varied  by  ' Childe 
Harold,  Childe  Harold,  Childe  Harold.'  I  never 
thought  it  possible  that  a  poet — a  mere  poet — 
could  so  upset " 

"There  he  comes,"  cried  the  girl. 

"Where — where?  Why  will  those  odious  peo- 
ple stand  up  so  as  to  shut  out  my  view  ? ' '  cried  the 
elder  lady,  jumping  to  her  feet  and  vainly  en- 
deavouring to  look  over  the  heads  of  some  people 
who  stood  between  her  and  the  door,  around  which 
there  was  a  crowd.  "Was  there  ever  anything 
so  tiresome  ?  I  cannot  catch  a  glimpse.  Heavens ! 
he  will  be  in  his  box  before  I  have  a  chance!" 

She  was  shrill,  almost  tearful,  in  her  com- 
plaints, craning  her  head  forward  one  moment, 
and  the  next  leaning  to  one  side,  dodging  the 
feathery  trophy  which  crowned  her  neighbour, 
stooping,  so  as  to  take  advantage  of  a  temporary 
vista  that  promised  much,  swooping,  with  the 
quick  drop  of  a  hawk,  down  upon  the  lorgnette 
that  lay  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  apparently 
hoping  that  the  glass  would  enable  her  to  see 
through  the  solid  phalanx  that  interfered  with 
her  vision. 

"Psha!"  she  said,  resuming  her  seat  with  a 
swish  and  a  pout.  "  Psha!  't  is  not  he  after  all— 
't  is  only  the  Regent." 

The  younger  lady  laughed  with  dainty  malice. 

"  You  poor  soul ! "  she  said.  "  You  have  caught 
the  fever  rather  more  acutely  than  the  worst  of 


1 76  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

us;  and  you  were  so  ready  to  reprove  me!    Oh, 
fie,  Sophia!" 

In  every  other  part  of  the  playhouse  equal  alert- 
ness was  displayed  to  that  shown  by  these  ladies. 

"  If  we  only  knew  which  box  he  is  going  to,  we 
should  be  prepared,"  said  an  anxious  angular  lady 
in  pink  to  her  sister  in  blue.  They  were  middle- 
aged  maidens  with  a  limited  income  between 
them.  Their  dinners  would  be  meagre  for  weeks 
through  their  indulgence  in  the  extravagance  of 
the  theatre;  but  they  could  not  resist  it;  they 
had  been  reading  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage. 

"  Ah,  if  we  only  knew ! "  echoed  the  other.  Then, 
putting  her  thin  lips  close  to  her  sister's  ear,  she 
whispered : 

"Do  you  think  that  we  might  inquire  of  the 
gentleman  in  front  of  you,  Theodosia?  He  looks 
well  bred." 

"Araminta,  how  could  you  be  so  bold?"  whis- 
pered Theodosia,  raising  her  thin  mittened  hands. 

"My  dear  sister,  he  might  not  make  the  at- 
tempt to  take  advantage  of  our  temerity,"  said 
Miss  Araminta.  "We  could  be  cold  to  him  im- 
mediately after.  Supposing  we  fix  our  eyes  on 
the  wrong  box,  dear?" 

A  little  further  conversation  and  consultation, 
and  the  elder  lady  bent  forward  to  the  gentleman, 
saying  in  her  most  highly-bred  voice : 

"  May  we  presume  to  inquire  of  you,  sir,  if  you 
know  which  of  the  boxes  Lord  Byron  will  occupy  ?  " 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  177 

The  gentleman  turned  round. 

"Madam,  I  neither  know  nor  care,"  he  said 
firmly.  "  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Kean  as  the  Duke  of 
Gloster  on  the  stage,  not  Jack  in  the  box  or  your 
Byron  in  the  box,  or  anyone  else  in  a  box,  and  if 
you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  do  the  same, 
madam." 

The  ladies  looked  at  each  other,  their  thin  lips 
firmly  closed.  They  were  ladies  of  spirit.  They 
refused  to  be  rebuked  by  any  stranger. 

"Sir,"  said  Miss  Theodosia,  "we  asked  you  for 
information,  not  advice.  The  former  we  fancied 
you  might  be  able  to  give  us,  the  latter  we  are 
capable  of  giving  to  you,  should  you  desire  it,  on 
the  subject  of  good  manners." 

The  accents  of  precision  travelled  far ;  there  were 
titters  to  right  and  left.  The  ill-bred  man  glared 
at  the  maiden  sisters,  and  then  at  the  titterers. 

"Madam,"  said  a  young  man,  leaning  forward, 
"  my  Lord  Byron,  the  greatest  poet  of  this  or  any 
other  age,  will  occupy  the  second  box  from  the 
stage  on  the  opposite  side,  with  Mr.  Thomas 
Moore,  the  Irish  melodist." 

"We  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Miss  Araminta. 
"  We  are  pleased  with  your  information,  but  more 
by  the  knowledge  that  politeness  toward  ladies 
is  not  quite  extinct." 

"Blues!"  whispered  one  man  to  his  neighbour 
in  the  next  row.  "  You  can  tell  by  their  accent 
that  they  belong  to  the  Blues." 


178  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"A  dangerous  fellow,  this  Byron,  sir — a  rank 
sceptic,  if  not  worse — an  infidel — an  atheist. 
They  say  that  he  is  at  heart  a  Turk,"  said  a  man 
in  the  pit  to  the  one  sitting  next  to  him. 

"Ay,  at  heart,  most  of  us  in  England  are  so 
to-day,  from  those  living  in  Carlton  House " 

"  His  Royal  Highness  would  have  made  a  cap- 
ital Sultan  beyond  doubt ;  but  't  is  one  thing  to 
be  a  Sultan,  and  quite  another  to  be  an  infidel." 

"Is  that  theology?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  sir ;  there  is  the  case  of  David, 
the  King  of  Jerusalem.  He  was  the  man  after 
God's  own  heart,  and  wrote  the  Book  of  Psalms ; 
so  that  his  numerous — his  numerous — lapses  were 
forgiven  him." 

"  He  counted  them  by  the  thousand ;  Abishag, 
the  Shunamite,  was  the  last.  Our  new  poet 
seems  to  have  much  in  common  with  David, 
including  his  lyrical  gifts.  You  have  read  Childe 
Harold's  Pilgrimage,  sir?" 

"  Not  I,  sir;  I  would  not  willingly  read  a  poem 
by  an  infidel." 

"  He  admits  frankly  that  at  his  ancestral  home 
he  was  foremost  in  orgies,"  said  a  young  man 
with  large  eyes  to  an  elder  with  spectacles  and  a 
twinkle  behind  each  lens. 

"  He  made  orgying  an  art  and  excessing  a  science 
— that  is  why  we  all  envy  him  to-day,"  said  he. 

"  I  do  not,"  said  the  youth.  "  I  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  an  orgy." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  179 

"  I  don't,  unless  it  be  an  orgy  of  poetry,  or  an 
orgy  of  priggishness.  I  take  a  poet  to  be  a  bit  of 
a  man,  and  this  fellow  seems  to  be  something  of  a 
man,  though  not  so  much  so  as  the  poet  that 
speaks  to-night,  our  Shakespeare — 

"  I  was  disappointed  in  Childe  Harold's  Pil- 
grimage on  the  whole.  I  counted  six  false  rhymes 
in  the  first  canto  alone." 

"Off  with  his  head — so  much  for  Byron,"  said 
the  man  with  the  spectacles,  anticipating — with 
a  change — the  phrase  with  which  Mr.  Kean  would 
electrify  the  house  in  an  hour  or  two. 

"Can  he  really  be  so  wicked  as  people  say?" 
a  young  wife  asked  of  her  husband. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  a  man  can  always  manage  to  be  as 
bad  as  people  say,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
rarely  is,"  replied  her  husband. 

"  And  you  think  that  Lord  Byron  is  really  and 
truly  wicked?"  she  said  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"  Is  not  everybody  in  the  theatre  on  tip-toe  of 
curiosity  to  see  him?  Do  you  think  that  virtuous 
people  would  be  in  that  state  for  any  reason  except 
to  see  an  extremely  wicked  young  man?"  said 
her  husband,  smiling  tolerantly. 

"Oh,  but  a  poet,"  suggested  the  wife. 

"Well,  Pye  is  a  poet — Poet  Laureate,  and  yet 
people  don't  crowd  the  theatre  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Pye.  Take  my  word  for  it,  Lord  Byron  is  a 
shocking  young  man." 


i8o  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

So  the  gossip  went  round  the  playhouse.  No 
one  was  talking  of  Kean ;  the  great  actor  seemed 
to  be  regarded  by  the  playgoers  as  filling  a  per- 
fectly legitimate  place  in  drawing  people  together 
to  see  Lord  Byron.  Kean  was  accepted  as  a  sort 
of  high-class  showman,  whose  business  it  was  to 
give  the  public  a  chance  of  seeing  that  lusus 
natures — a  peer  who  had  written  a  great  poem. 

The  hour  for  the  beginning  of  the  performance 
was  already  passed  by  five  minutes,  the  Prince 
Regent  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  royal  box,  and 
was  showing  some  impatience — worse  than  that, 
the  occupants  of  the  gallery  were  showing  some 
impatience — at  the  delay  in  raising  the  curtain. 
A  message  from  the  royal  box  to  behind  the 
scenes  met  with  a  curt  excuse.  Mr.  Kean  was 
obdurate.  He  did  not  mind  about  himself,  he 
said  to  the  anxious  manager;  it  was  for  Shake- 
speare he  trembled;  he  would  not  be  a  party  to 
such  an  insult  as  would  be  offered  to  Shakespeare 
were  Lord  Byron  to  enter  the  playhouse  and  draw 
away,  as  he  certainly  would,  the  attention  of  the 
audience  from  the  stage.  Considering  that  Mr. 
Kean  acted  in  Gibber's  version  of  the  play,  he 
need  not  have  been  so  punctilious  for  the  honour 
of  Shakespeare. 

But  Mr.  Kean  was  right;  for  a  few  minutes 
later  there  was  a  movement  among  the  vast 
audience,  a  movement  and  a  whisper  surging 
round  boxes  and  pit  and  gallery,  the  sound  that 
follows  the  opening  of  a  sluice,  a  trickling  whisper 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  181 

at  first,  swelling  in  tone  and  gaining  in  volume, 
until  the  whole  house  was  in  a  seething  whirl.  It 
lasted  an  amazingly  short  time,  considering  the 
vehemence  which  it  attained.  But  the  hush  that 
followed  was  infinitely  more  impressive  than  the 
clamour.  Every  eye  in  the  house  seemed  strain- 
ing to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  young  man  with  the 
marble  brow  and  the  auburn  curls  who  was 
following  with  scarcely  a  hint  of  a  halting  foot, 
the  theatre  attendant  who  was  bowing  his  way 
to  a  box,  followed  by  a  short  gentleman  with  a 
humorous  Irish  face,  an  eye  that  seemed  con- 
stantly twinkling  at  the  jest  of  a  retrousst  nose. 
In  another  minute  they  had  reached  their  box 
and  seated  themselves  very  quietly  on  the  back 
chairs.  With  a  sigh,  the  sigh  of  subsiding  waters, 
the  playgoers  settled  down  into  their  places. 
There  was  a  slight  buzz  of  criticism,  the  flash  of 
a  smile  flying  round  the  faces  in  the  boxes  like  a 
glint  of  sunshine  over  a  garden  on  a  day  of  fleecy 
flying  clouds  of  April,  and  then  with  a  cry  of 
"order"  from  the  disorderly  parts  of  the  house, 
the  curtain  rose,  and  the  figures  of  Mr.  Gibber's 
introduction  began  to  talk.  Mr.  Kean  would  not 
appear  until  the  second  act,  with  his  soliloquy: 

Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Made  glorious  summer  by  this  son  of  York, 

and  so  it  was  not  thought  discourteous  to  any  one, 
unless  to  Gibber,  and  he  did  n't  matter,  to  talk 
sotto  voce  in  the  boxes. 


1 82  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

It  was  of  Lord  Byron  that  everyone  whispered, 
and  no  one  whispered  of  his  poetry  now;  it  was 
all  very  well  to  speak  of  his  poetry  before  he  had 
appeared;  but  since  he  had  been  seen,  it  was  of 
his  face  that  everyone  talked. 

"What  a  face!" — "the  features  that  one  sees 
on  a  Greek  stone  cameo" — "the  face  of  a  Greek 
god" — "the  curls  of  the  young  Paris" — "what 
eyes !  melting — mournful  — mysterious  "- — "  eyes 
with  doom  written  large  within  their  depths" — 
"and  what  a  brow! — whiter  than  ivory -marble " 
— "  and  his  neck — 

The  brigade  of  dandies,  with  their  necks  en- 
wound  with  five  yards  of  stiff  cambric,  held  up 
their  hands  disdainful  of  the  unstocked  poet ;  but 
somehow  his  low,  soft  collar  with  a  tie  loosely 
fastened,  so  as  to  display  the  hollow  of  his  throat, 
made  them  feel  ashamed  of  themselves,  and,  of 
course,  the  more  ashamed  of  themselves  they 
were  the  more  earnestly  did  they  shrug  their 
shoulders  and  talk  of  taste  and  ton.  The  tyr- 
anny of  the  impudent  beau  of  the  eighteenth 
century  had  been  followed  by  the  insolence  of  the 
dandy  of  the  nineteenth.  The  beau  had  been 
a  marvel  of  dignity  and  grace;  the  dandy  was 
dowdy,  clumsy  in  his  ridiculous  stock,  and  the 
mufBings  of  superfluous  coats  and  many  waist- 
coats. Already  the  Byron  collar  was  being 
adopted  by  young  gentlemen  of  fashion,  who 
fancied  they  perceived  a  short  cut  to  fame  by 
adopting  the  dress  of  the  most  famous  young 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  183 

gentleman  of  the  age.  Before  Childe  Harold's 
Pilgrimage  had  been  published  more  than  a  week, 
Society  became  overcrowded  with  Childe  Harolds 
— young  men  affecting  an  air  of  dignified  gloom, 
talking  vaguely  of  remorse,  and  hinting  at  secret 
crime,  and  the  hollowness  of  pleasure.  They 
wore  cloaks.  They  were  an  intolerable  nuisance 
to  their  friends. 

At  the  interval  between  the  first  and  second 
acts,  all  lorgnettes  were  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  box  where  Byron  and  Moore  sat.  Moore 
kept  well  to  the  front  and  waved  his  hand  to  his 
many  friends  in  the  house.  He  saw  no  reason 
why  he  should  rest  in  the  shade  simply  because 
he  happened  to  be  on  terms  of  pleasant  famil- 
iarity with  a  poet  who  was  also  a  peer.  He  made 
a  good-humoured  foil  for  his  friend.  Moore  was 
full  in  the  light  and  greatly  conspicuous,  but 
Byron  sat  remote.  Only  now  and  again  there 
was  a  gleam  of  the  candle-light  upon  his  features ; 
they  stood  out  momentarily  from  the  gloom,  and 
lapsed  into  the  gloom  again.  This  was  just  the 
effect  that  was  in  keeping  with  the  impression 
which  his  poem  had  made.  An  atmosphere — a 
twilight  of  mystery  surrounded  him.  There  he 
was,  a  thing  of  shadows,  seen  one  moment  and 
vanishing  the  next — silent — reserved — living  in 
another  world. 

He  never  posed  for  an  instant.  He  sat  in  the 
half-light  because  he  liked  half-lights,  and  he  sat 
remote,  because  he  had  never  quite  got  rid  of  his 


1 84  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

early  shyness.  He  made  no  attempt  to  heighten 
the  effect  of  his  own  personality.  He  knew  that 
there  was  no  need  for  him  to  do  so ;  everyone  in 
the  theatre  was  looking  in  his  direction,  and  when 
there  was  a  gleam  on  his  face,  he  could  hear  the 
whispers  of  startled  delight  that  came  from  the 
lips  of  young  women. 

It  was  only  when  Lord  Holland  came  to  the 
box  that  he  shifted  his  position,  and  began  to  talk 
with  some  degree  of  animation. 

Mr.  Sheridan,  who  was  in  a  box  with  his  friend 
Rogers,  laughed  pleasantly  when  the  latter  said: 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  ever  before  saw  so  many 
young  women  in  the  theatre.  Can  you  account 
for  it?" 

'  'T  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,  sir,"  said 
Sheridan.  "Virgo,  the  Maiden,  follows  Leo,  the 
Lion,  in  society  as  well  as  in  the  Zodiac." 

"You  think  that  they  came  in  expectation  of 
seeing  Byron?"  said  Rogers. 

"  Colman  took  good  care  to  advertise  his  coming 
to  see  Kean  to-night,"  said  Sheridan.  "  'T  is  such 
enterprise  as  this  fills  the  house.  Who  is  it  that 
will  traduce  the  taste  of  the  English  people  and  say 
that  there  is  no  genuine  appreciation  of  Shake- 
speare in  this  country,  when  Kean  plays  Richard 
to  such  a  packed  house  ?  Ah !  Shakespeare  is  very 
dear  to  the  English  people.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  get  the  most  popular  man  of  the  hour  to  accept 
a  box  and  let  the  thing  be  properly  announced, 
and  Shakespeare  will  attract  his  thousands." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  185 

"  You  will  have  to  invite  Lord  Byron  to  Drury 
Lane  when  the  theatre  is  rebuilt,"  said  Rogers. 

"What,  in  eighteen  months'  time?  My  dear 
sir,  this  comet  called  Byron  will  have  been  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  sun,  long  before  I  have  been  paid 
the  last  instalment  of  my  fire  insurance,"  said 
Sheridan.  "  We  shall  have  to  look  out  for  some- 
thing less  meteoric." 

"  They  say  that  Mr.  Southey  means  to  write  you 
a  play,"  said  Rogers. 

"  Let  him.  I  '11  promise  to  produce  it  on  what- 
ever day  Bonaparte  agrees  to  take  a  box.  Nothing 
less  than  the  presence  of  Bonaparte  in  a  box  would 
draw  the  public  to  see  a  play  of  Mr.  Southey 's," 
said  Sheridan. 

Rogers  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid,  then,  that  Mr. 
Southey  will  remain  unacted,"  he  said. 

"There's  no  need,"  said  Sheridan.  "If  you 
only  exert  yourself,  Mr.  Rogers,  I  am  confident 
that  you  will  succeed  in  bringing  about  a  recon- 
ciliation between  Bonaparte  and  Great  Britain. 
Look  at  what  you  have  already  accomplished. 
Some  of  us  got  hold  of  Moore  a  year  ago  and  tried 
to  persuade  him  that  he  had  been  grossly  affronted 
by  Byron  in  his  Satire,  and  that  it  was  necessary 
for  him  to  send  a  challenge  to  his  lordship.  It 
was  you,  with  your  infernal  good  nature,  who 
asked  them  to  breakfast  with  you,  and  so  spoiled 
our  laugh,  and  now  Tommy  and  his  lordship  are 
inseparable.  I 'faith,  sir,  I  believe  that  it  was  your 
cursed  interference  that  reconciled  Lord  Holland 


1 86  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

and  the  satirist.  By  my  soul,  Rogers,  if  Byron  were 
to  write  of  me  as  he  did  of  the  Hollands,  I  would 
have  put  a  bullet  through  him,  after  I  had  bor- 
rowed from  you  as  much  as  would  pay  for  the 
lead.  Your  peace-making  is  becoming  a  scandal, 
Rogers.  If  you  go  on  much  longer  you  will  be  as- 
sassinated by  the  gun-makers.  Give  us  a  new  edi- 
tion of  Pleasures  of  Memory,  and  tell  us  in  proper 
order  of  the  triumphs  of  your  breakfast  table." 

Then  the  curtain  rose  upon  the  second  act  and 
Kean,  hunch-backed  and  bow-kneed,  limped  upon 
the  stage,  the  malignancy  in  his  eyes  being  intensi- 
fied when  he  found  that  the  audience  had  not  yet 
settled  down  after  their  interval  of  staring  at  Byron. 

"You  are  not  going  away?"  said  Rogers,  as 
Sheridan  gave  signs  of  departing. 

"Kean  makes  a  good  Gloster,  but  I  have  seen 
Garrick  in  the  part,"  said  Sheridan. 

Rogers  watched  him  leave  with  great  serious- 
ness. He  shook  his  head  after  he  had  disappeared. 
He  knew  that  it  was  not  a  matter  of  sentiment  that 
took  Sheridan  away,  but  a  matter  of  claret. 

Before  Kean  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  solilo- 
quy, he  had  his  audience  within  the  hollow  of  his 
hand;  and  he  knew  it.  This  was  his  triumph. 
The  management  had  told  him  that  he  was  sure 
of  a  good  house  because  they  had  advertised  that 
Lord  Byron  would  attend  the  performance  of 
Richard  III.,  and  he  knew  quite  well  that  the  poet 
would  attract  more  attention  than  the  stage- 
yes,  for  some  time.  But  Kean  also  knew  that  he 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  187 

had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  rivalry  of  Byron. 
He  had  a  greater  poet  than  Byron  on  his  side — 
though  he  had  no  great  confidence  in  the  discrim- 
ination of  the  public  on  this  point,  and  he  had 
the  power  of  the  greatest  actor  alive  on  his  side — 
there  never  was  any  doubt  in  Mr.  Kean's  mind 
on  this  point.  Of  course  he  triumphed.  A  rival! 
In  every  part  of  the  theatre  the  people  were  hang- 
ing on  his  words,  and  the  poet  Byron  was  the 
most  attentive  of  them  all.  He  had  come  to  the 
front  of  the  box,  and  was  leaning  over  the  ledge, 
his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  drinking  in  every 
word  spoken  by  that  malignantly  frank  fiend  who 
shuffled  about  the  stage,  uttering  his  thoughts 
aloud.  Kean  did  not  speak  the  soliloquy  as  if  he 
were  making  a  speech  to  his  audience.  He  spoke 
it  disjointedly — musingly.  He  was  frank  only 
with  himself;  the  triumph  of  his  art  was  to  con- 
vey to  his  audience  the  impression  that  they  had 
been  accidentally  let  into  the  secrets  of  the  mind 
of  the  man  before  them.  They  felt  this,  and  they 
also  felt  that  it  would  never  do  for  them  to  miss 
a  single  word  that  was  spoken  on  the  stage.  No 
one  looked  in  the  direction  of  Byron,  and  he  never 
turned  his  eyes  away  from  the  stage.  Mr.  Moore 
was  beginning  to  fear  that,  after  all,  Mr.  Kean 
might  have  the  best  of  it.  If  the  playgoers  in- 
sisted on  giving  all  their  attention  to  the  stage, 
his  friend  the  poet  would  have  reason  to  complain 
of  their  neglect,  and — worst  of  all — the  poet's 
friend  would  remain  unobserved. 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  the  next  interval  Lord  Holland  visited  Byron 
in  his  box,  but  as  there  were  half  a  dozen 
other  persons  of  distinction  there,  he  only  re- 
mained for  a  few  minutes  to  mention  that  Madame 
de  Stael  had  promised  to  attend  Lady  Holland's 
reception  that  night,  solely  to  have  an  opportun- 
ity of  making  his — Byron's — acquaintance.  Of 
course  Byron  affirmed  that  he  had  never  before 
been  so  greatly  flattered. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  just  engaged  myself  to  meet 
Homer's  Iliad  in  the  original,"  said  he.  "Some- 
how I  cannot  think  of  Madame  de  Stael  except  as 
an  abstraction,  like  the  Meridian  of  Greenwich  or 
the  Equator.  I  cannot  think  of  her  as  existing  in 
the  flesh." 

"When  you  see  her,  you  will  not  be  in  any 
doubt  as  to  the  flesh,"  said  Sheridan,  who  had 
just  entered  the  box,  and  found  it  convenient  to 
lean  against  one  of  the  columns. 

"That  is  comforting,"  said  Byron.  "One  is 
never  quite  at  one's  ease  with  abstractions." 

"Except  of  virtue,"  said  Moore. 

"And  bigotry,"  said  young  Mr.  Dallas,  nodding 
toward  Sheridan. 

But  Sheridan  had  passed  the  moment  when  he 

iSS 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  189 

could  recall  his  Mrs.  Malaprop.  He  had  slid  down 
his  pillar  into  a  chair  and  had  fallen  asleep  in  a 
second. 

"The  maker  of  'Corinne'  cannot  be  thought  of 
as  an  abstraction  of  bigotry — so  much  is  sure," 
said  Byron;  "and  as  regards  the  other — abstrac- 
tion  " 

"Ah!  you  will  see  her  and  form  your  own  con- 
clusions," said  Lord  Holland. 

"The  most  satisfactory  way  of  judging,"  said 
Moore. 

"  What ! ' '  cried  Byron.  "  The  most  satisfactory 
way  of  finding  out  if  the  contents  of  a  phial  are 
poison — swallowing  them  ?  Oh,  my  dear  Moore ! " 

"There's  something  in  that,"  said  Lord  Hol- 
land. "  But  we  were  talking  of  a  lady  writer, 
not  of  poison." 

"Your  lordship  draws  a  very  nice  distinction," 
said  Sheridan,  who  seemed  to  awake  only  to  utter 
the  phrase:  he  was  asleep  before  the  others  had 
ceased  laughing. 

"  I  would  rather  hear  what  Sheridan  says  when 
in  his  sleep  than  what  the  next  witty  man  living 
says  when  at  his  best,"  whispered  Lord  Holland. 

"Alas!"  said  Dallas,  "that  such  a  man  should 
fritter  his  life  away  in  politics!" 

"And  that  Whig  politics  into  the  bargain. 
Alas!  alas!"  said  Byron,  smiling  at  Lord  Holland. 

' '  The  unsuccessful  side.  Alas !  Alas !  Alas ! ' ' 
said  Lord  Holland. 

"If   Lord    Byron   continues   making  speeches 


1 90  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

equal  in  eloquence  to  his  first,  we  may  look  for  a 
change  in  this  respect,"  said  Moore,  with  great 
seriousness. 

"There's  an  Irish  brogue  in  Moore's  smile," 
said  Byron.  "You  never  know  when  the  rascal 
is  talking  bam ;  and  like  others  of  his  nation,  he 
is  never  so  flippant  as  when  he  is  most  serious." 

"He  spoke  good  sense  just  now,  whether  or 
not  it  was  his  intention  to  do  so,"  said  Lord 
Holland. 

"Oh,  fie,  my  lord!"  cried  Moore.  "Do  you 
suggest  that  I  sometimes  talk  sense  as  Sheridan 
talks  wit,  unwittingly?" 

"His  lordship  drew  attention  to  the  fact  that 
you  spoke  sense — once,"  said  Byron.  "And  per- 
haps he  was  right,  though  for  myself  I  cannot 
agree  with  him." 

"Now  you  know  very  well  that  you  made  a 
fine  speech,  Byron,"  said  Dallas.  "Did  you  not 
tell  me  that  you  had  made  the  Chancellor  angry?  " 

"  So  much  at  least  must  be  placed  to  my  credit," 
laughed  Byron.  "  After  all,  that  seems  to  be  the 
be  all  and  the  end  all  of  political  parties :  to  make 
your  opponents  angry." 

"And  to  keep  his  Royal  Highness  in  a  good 
humour,"  whispered  Lord  Holland,  with  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  nod  in  the  direction  of  the  royal  box. 
The  Regent  was  laughing  heartily  at  something 
which  had  been  said  to  him  by  a  prominent  mem- 
ber of  the  Government  who  was  standing  beside 
his  chair. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord 


"I  hear  it  is  becoming  a  more  difficult  task 
every  day,"  said  Moore. 

"  And  yet  his  laureate  is  said  to  submit  an  ode 
to  him  every  week,"  remarked  Dallas. 

"  If  that  is  the  truth,  we  can  quite  understand 
why  his  Royal  Highness  should  feel  glum,"  said 
Lord  Holland. 

"What  is  the  good  of  being  in  the  place  of  a 
king  if  one  is  compelled  to  submit  to  a  course  of 
odes?"  said  Byron.  "I  am  convinced  that  his 
Royal  Highness  has  made  a  point  of  seeing  the 
play  to-night  in  order  to  learn  something  of  the 
methods  of  his  illustrious  ancestor  in  ridding  him- 
self of  superfluous  wives  and  poets  and  hangers-on 
of  that  sort." 

"Whatever  Gloster  may  have  done,  it  is  not 
on  record  that  he  ever  murdered  a  poet,"  said 
Dallas. 

"  My  sense  of  fair  play  would  cause  me  to  place 
such  an  act  to  his  credit  if  I  could  but  remember 
it,"  said  Byron.  "Never  mind;  our  Prince  may 
perceive  that  it  devolves  on  him  to  go  beyond 
Richard  —  if  he  have  not  done  so  already." 

"For  heaven's  sake!"  whispered  Lord  Holland, 
holding  up  his  hand.  "  No  scandal  about  Queen 
Elizabeth—  eh,  Sherry?" 

Mr.  Sheridan  had  suddenly  awakened.  There 
was  on  his  face  a  puzzled  look:  he  seemed  trying 
to  recollect  where  he  had  heard  the  quotation. 

"Garrick  told  me  that  before  playing  the  part 
of  Gloster  he  invariably  ate  an  underdone  beef- 


192  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

steak  and  drank  a  pint  of  port,"  he  muttered. 
"  When  he  heard  that  Barry  thought  of  following 
his  example,  he  said,  'Quite  right;  only  he  had 
better  begin  on  an  ox  roasted  whole.' ' 

"  I  have  felt  quite  equal  to  murder  after  a  single 
pork  chop,"  said  Byron. 

"Some  natures  need  only  so  small  a  spur  in 
that  direction,  whereas  there  are  others  so  lethar- 
gic that  they  might  eat  a  whole  ox  and  drink  a 
hogshead  of  brandy,  and  yet  allow  a  Quarterly 
Reviewer  to  live,"  said  Dallas. 

Mr.  Rogers,  sitting  in  his  box  opposite,  tried  to 
give  all  his  attention  to  Mr.  Coleridge's  criticism  of 
Kean's  acting.  He  had  no  particular  wish  to 
know  where  Kean  was  wrong  and  where  he  was 
right;  when  Kean  was  on  the  stage  he  ceased  to 
criticise;  he  felt;  and  feeling  turns  criticism  out 
of  doors.  He  knew,  however,  that  Mr.  Coleridge 
was  anxious  to  unburden  himself,  and  so  he  sub- 
mitted. But  he  had  his  eye  on  the  other  box. 
He  knew  that  they  were  not  standing  on  tiptoe 
with  a  tape  to  take  the  measure  of  Kean. 

Coleridge  would  have  gone  on  for  half  the  night 
flourishing  his  critical  tape  measure  and  yet  never 
getting  it  higher  than  Kean's  knees,  but  happily 
he  was  stopped,  not  by  the  rising  of  the  curtain, 
but  by  Mr.  Rogers 's  protest  when  the  new  act 
began.  Coleridge,  the  true  critic,  believed  that 
what  he  had  to  say  about  the  performance  was 
greater  than  the  performance  itself.  It  certainly 
would  have  been  longer. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  193 

It  was  not  to  see  the  Prince  Regent  escorted  to 
his  chariot  with  all  ceremony  by  the  manager  and 
his  men,  that  the  crowd  blocked  the  way.  It  was 
not  even  to  see  the  lovely  Countess  of  Jersey  glit- 
tering in  diamonds  as  she  tripped  out  between  the 
lamps;  it  was  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  young 
lord  whose  name  was  on  every  tongue. 

The  old  Duke  of  Bedford,  who  recollected  the 
impression  produced  by  the  beautiful  Misses  Gun- 
ning when  they  first  came  to  town,  affirmed  that 
their  triumph  was  not  greater  than  that  achieved 
by  the  new  poet.  His  Grace  cursed  the  degen- 
eracy of  the  moderns  who  made  all  this  fuss  about 
a  poet — a  mere  poet.  In  the  case  of  the  Misses 
Gunning  there  was  some  reason  for  the  excite- 
ment ;  they  were  beautiful  women,  though  for  his 
own  part  he  preferred  girls  with  more  flesh  on 
their  bones — that,  his  Grace  admitted,  was  only 
a  matter  of  taste ;  but  for  men  and  women  to  run 
after  a  fellow  simply  because  he  had  written  a 
poem — could  anything  be  more  preposterous? 
Could  anything  show  more  plainly  that  the  coun- 
try was  going  to  the  deuce? 

"It's  marvellous  to  what  excesses  people  will 
go  in  the  first  flush  of  the  discovery  that  it  is 
possible  for  a  peer  to  have  brains,"  was  the  ex- 
planation of  the  phenomenon  offered  with  great 
respect  by  Colonel  Clifford ;  and  a  few  people  who 
heard  it  admitted  that  there  might  be  something 
in  it. 

But  whether  Clifford's  theory,  or  the  Duke's 


i94  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

contention  that  the  moderns  were  hopelessly  de- 
generate, was  right,  the  fact  remained  indisput- 
able: until  Lord  Byron's  chariot  had  driven  off, 
the  streets  continued  blocked  by  people,  young 
and  old,  straining  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  new 
poet  about  whom  so  many  strange  stories  were 
told.  Even  when  the  carriage  had  driven  away  it 
carried  with  it  quite  a  long  train  of  young  men  and 
women  peering  round  the  panels  as  they  tried  to 
keep  up  with  the  horses,  in  hopes  of  catching  sight 
of  his  face  with  the  light  of  the  street  lamps  on  it. 

"This  is  fame,  indeed,"  said  Moore. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Byron.  "  How  is  it  that 
people  have  only  begun  to  run  after  you  within 
the  month?  Surely  the  Post  Bag  was  to  their 
taste ;  or  have  they  only  now  discovered  that  the 
Irish  Melodies  are  the  most  melodious  verses  ever 
written  by  an  Irishman?  Ah,  Thomas  Little  or 
Thomas  Moore,  or  whatever  you  have  a  mind  to 
call  yourself,  could  you  but  know  the  effect  that  the 
singing  of  your  Minstrel  Boy  had  upon  me  on  one 
night  of  my  life — the  most  memorable  night  of  my 
life!  That  impression  has  not  been  quite  rubbed 
off  in  spite  of  the  years  that  have  jostled  past  me, 
and  the  hobgoblins  which  have  rubbed  against 
me  in  my  way  through  the  Slough  of  Despond 
which  you  call  the  world." 

"  And  by  heaven,"  cried  the  Irishman,  "  I  would 
rather  hear  that  from  you  than  be  run  after  by  all 
the  crowds  in  Christendom — that  is  the  truth,  by 
heaven!" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  195 

"And,  by  heaven,  you  are  right,  my  friend!" 
said  Byron.  "  I  would  sooner  hear  one  man  say 
to  me,  'You  have  taught  me  to  feel,'  than  all  the 
cheers  of  the  mob.  Do  you  think  that  I  am  car- 
ried away  by  all  the  signs  which  I  have  had  of 
the  curiosity  of  these  poor  fools  who  are  running 
after  us?  You  will  not  do  me  the  injustice  of 
thinking  that  I  look  on  this  as  fame.  Don't  you 
suppose  that  I  can  estimate  it  at  its  proper  value? 
Poetry?  What  do  these  people  know  about 
poetry  or  care  for  poetry?  I  am  in  their  eyes  the 
murderer  of  the  moment.  They  are  just  as 
anxious  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  wretch  on  the  way 
to  Newgate  as  they  are  to  see  me,  and  the  same 
crowd  that  cheers  me  to-day  may  hiss  me  to- 
morrow. God  do  so  to  me  and  more  also  if  I  ever 
so  far  forget  myself  as  to  take  this  mob  into 
account  when  I  sit  me  down  to  do  my  work  in  the 
world.  May  the  worst  happen  to  me  if  I  ever  set 
about  writing  to  gain  the  applause  of  the  crowd! " 

"  No  one  except  a  fool  would  accuse  you  of 
having  written  a  single  line  hitherto  with  that 
intent,"  said  Moore.  "And  no  man  living  would 
remain  so  little  moved  one  way  or  another  by  the 
triumph  which  you  have  achieved." 

"  I  know  exactly  how  much  I  have  done,"  said 
Byron.  "  I  know  that  if  I  am  a  poet  it  is  because 
I  cannot  help  it.  I  heard  the  voice  you  have 
heard,  calling  to  me  out  of  the  deep,  even  as  it 
called  to  you;  and  I  was  compelled  to  answer  to 
its  call — so  were  you.  I  have  sung  a  song  and  I 


196  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

— only  I — know  how  true  it  is — how  false  it  is — 
how  much  it  reveals — how  much  it  conceals — of 
the  truth.  But  when  I  see  those  people  running 
after  me  I  think  of  that  marvellous  sight  which 
I  saw  on  the  night  before  I  found  out  what  that 
voice  was  which  had  called  to  me — it  was  the 
night  of  the  great  display  of  meteors,  and  my 
Scotch  superstition  has  had  weight  to  make  me 
believe  that  my  course  is  to  be  that  of  a  meteor — 
a  wild  flare  lasting  a  short  time,  and  then — a 
burst  and — silence.  Well,  my  ambition  does  not 
ask  for  anything  different  from  this.  The  flare-up 
has  come — look  at  that  boy  with  the  link  at  Lord 
Holland's — it  makes  a  brave  show  now ;  but  wait 
— ah !  he  has  thrust  it  into  the  extinguisher — pah ! 
the  fastidious  folk  in  the  Square  hold  their  noses 
aloof  from  the  smell.  My  dear  Moore,  you  will 
live  to  see  people  turn  away  their  heads  when  my 
name  is  mentioned." 

"Not  I,"  said  Moore.  "You — a  meteor — a 
torch!  Take  my  word  for  it,  Childe  Harold  is  a 
fixed  star — in  the  galaxy  of  the  new  century  it  is 
a  second  Sirius.  If  you  go  on  for  another  year 
or  two,  you  will  have  a  complete  constellation  to 
yourself." 

"Ay,  the  unstable  constellation  of  a  shower  of 
meteors — I  know  it." 

The  carriage  crawled  into  the  place  vacated  by 
Lady  Jersey's — there  was  still  a  line  of  carriages 
reaching  from  St.  James's  Square  half-way  down 
Pall  Mall — and  even  here  Byron  was  recognised 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  197 

by  the  stragglers  who  were  peering  through  the 
lines  of  lamps  and  links  at  the  distinguished  guests 
at  Lady  Holland's  reception. 

When  the  name  of  the  Right  Honourable  Lord 
Byron  was  passed  from  lackey  to  lackey  up  to  the 
doors  of  the  great  salon,  there  was  a  hush  in  the 
conversation  that  had  buzzed  from  staircase  to 
reception  room,  so  that  he  entered  between  the 
pillars  of  a  stately  silence,  so  to  speak.  That  was 
how  Lord  Melbourne  put  it — somewhat  fantas- 
tically, no  doubt,  but  making  an  honest  attempt 
to  find  an  equivalent  for  the  impression  of  which 
he  was  conscious.  Byron  walked  down  a  long 
colonnade  of  silence  to  bow  over  the  hand  of  the 
hostess. 

Then  the  name  of  the  next  one  to  arrive  was 
heard  in  the  distance,  and,  before  it  had  swelled 
into  distinctness,  the  rooms  were  humming  once 
more.  Only  to  Byron  had  the  acclamation  of 
silence  been  granted  by  that  splendid  assemblage, 
and  that  spontaneously,  too.  His  name  had  been 
on  all  lips  up  to  the  moment  of  his  entering.  It 
is  impossible  to  continue  talking  of  a  man  when 
he  has  appeared  among  those  who  have  made  him 
a  topic. 

He  had  his  circle  in  a  moment.  Men  with 
ribands  and  stars  made  up  the  circumference; 
they  could  not  with  dignity  crush  in  upon  their 
wives  and  daughters  who  were  hovering  around 
the  centre.  The  young  wives  were  the  most  en- 
terprising; when  a  lion  has  the  reputation  of 


198  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

being  very  wild  the  animal  is  doubly  attractive. 
When  it  is  understood  that  he  may  take  a  fancy 
to  devour  those  who  are  fondling  him,  their  cour- 
age in  persisting  must  be  appreciated.  A  new 
species  had  been  discovered :  a  poet  who  was  dan- 
gerous. Such  a  thing  had  never  before  been 
heard  of.  It  had  always  been  assumed  that  the 
poet  was  not  to  be  classed  among  Carnivora — that 
he  was  incapable  of  being  otherwise  than  frugivor- 
ous.  Fruit  products  subjected  to  the  process  of 
fermentation  had  sometimes  made  a  variation  in 
his  diet ;  but  still,  fruit.  He  was  tame :  he  would 
eat  out  of  the  hand.  But  here  was  the  new  speci- 
men. Beautiful  as  the  best  of  them — most  of 
them  had  been  beautiful — and  yet  dangerous — 
not  to  be  approached  without  risk,  and  therefore 
approached  with  intense  interest.  Every  woman 
feels  within  her  the  ability  to  be  the  tamer  of  the 
wild  man ;  survivors  of  the  experiment  have  been 
known. 

They  crowded  round  him — a  little  fluttering,  a 
trifle  of  awe,  a  readiness  to  show  their  captivating 
femininity  by  flight  (a  charming  paradox),  a  word 
or  two  of  almost  breathless  admiration,  a  timid 
enquiry  about  the  beauties  of  the  Bosphorus— 
inanimate  beauties,  of  course — not  a  breath  about 
the  Seraglio,  though  it  was  whispered  that  the 
wild  poet  had  had  his  experiences  there — that  was 
all,  and  not  very  lively  for  a  wild  poet  who  had 
never  been  petted  in  the  open,  so  to  speak.  And 
yet  every  few  minutes  some  one  of  the  household 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  199 

brought  up  a  fresh  addition  to  the  circle,  and  he 
had  to  respond  to  a  shrinking  courtesy  and  the 
inane  attempts  at  conversation  of  the  blushing 
matrons  and  maidens.  It  was  the  age  when  mod- 
esty was  accounted  a  virtue,  though  how  they 
contrived  to  associate  it  with  the  costume  of  the 
Empire  is  difficult  to  understand.  It  was  also  the 
age  of  blushing:  that  one  can  understand  with 
less  trouble. 

It  was  when  Byron  was  being  bored  to  extinc- 
tion by  one  of  the  Blues — an  isosceles  triangle  of 
a  woman  who  wished  to  write  a  romance  of  the 
Bosphorus,  gaining  all  her  knowledge  of  the  region 
from  what  he  was  pleased  to  tell  her — that  there 
was  distinct  movement  on  the  outer  edge  of  his 
circle — such  a  movement  as  ruffled  it  to  the  very 
centre  as  the  surface  of  a  round  pond  of  orna- 
mental water  is  ruffled  when  some  capacious  body 
drops  into  it  from  the  bank. 

It  was  plain  that  some  foreign  body  capable  of 
effecting  a  large  displacement  of  the  element  that 
eddied  round  the  poet  had  been  projected  from 
without.  The  ripples  rolled  to  right  and  left  as 
if  Pharaoh  and  his  host — the  horse  and  his  rider 
—were  coming  on ;  there  was  the  sound  of  a  for- 
eign accent  rippling  along  and  refusing  to  be  im- 
peded by  any  pebbles  of  pronunciation — rippling 
—  rushing  —  bubbling  —  babbling  —  on  it  went, 
sweeping  everything  before  it;  and  when  a  pas- 
sage had  been  made,  Byron  looked  down  the  vista 
and  saw  coming  toward  him  a  quivering  figure, 


200  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

indifferently  protected  by  a  flimsy  robe  against 
the  scrutiny  of  the  crowd — a  plump  creature,  that 
somehow  suggested  the  approach  of  a  war-horse 
that  is  a  mare. 

She  clapped  her  hands  together  when  she  saw 
Byron  at  his  end  of  the  river  bed  that  she  had 
dried  up  as  doth  Behemoth — she  clapped  her 
hands,  and  the  action  made  her  vibratory  and 
pendulous  all  over,  so  that  the  lustres  in  the  can- 
delabra jingled. 

"  Ach — yez — yez — 't  is  'e.  Allah-illa-Allah !  and 
Byron  is  Byron — der  ist  no  oder!" 

She  had  flung  herself  on  him,  and  he  was  swal- 
lowed up  before  Lord  Holland  had  said : 

"  My  Lord  Byron,  I  have  the  honour  to  present 
to  you  Madame  de  Stael." 

"My  lord,  I  am  overwhelmed,"  gasped  Byron, 
and  truer  words  were  never  spoken.  He  kept  her 
at  a  distance  only  by  lowering  his  head,  making  a 
series  of  bows.  She  made  several  attempts  to  get 
at  him,  but  his  politeness  foiled  her.  His  curls 
had  been  jerked  in  a  cluster  over  his  forehead, 
partially  obscuring  his  vision;  but  Madame  de 
StaeTs  strong  personality  appealed  to  more  than 
one  sense ;  he  was  conscious  of  her  proximity,  he 
could  hear  the  sound  of  her  shrugs. 

"Enfin — enfin!"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  in 
front  of  him — they  were  so  plump  that  the  fingers 
did  not  interlace  beyond  the  first  joint.  "Now, 
we  shall  send  these  people  away  and  we  shall  have 
what  you  call  here  a  quiet  shat — a  quiet  shat." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  201 

She  put  one  of  her  hands  upon  his  arm  and  con- 
ducted him  with  a  proprietary  air  to  one  of  the 
new  fauteuils  which  had  just  been  designed  in 
France — bronze  Sphinxes  on  the  arms  and  Roman 
trophies  on  embossed  plates  screwed  on  the  ma- 
hogany. She  seated  herself  near  the  arm  in  the 
attitude  of  David's  Madame  Recamier — her  cos- 
tume differed  in  only  a  few  details  from  that  of 
Madame  Recamier;  there  was  so  little  of  either 
the  difference  could  not  be  great — and  motioned 
him  to  place  himself  beside  her.  He  did  so — not 
without  flinching. 

"  Now  we  shall  have  our  quiet  shat.  You  have 
interested  me  more  than  any  man  since  Jean- 
Jacques,  not  because  you  are  a  great  poet,  but 
because  you  are  a  phase — you  understand — a 
phase  of  the  English  people.  I  wish  to  master 
this — to  get  at  its  depths — to  learn  how  it  is  that 
you  who  have  shown  yourself  to  be  everything 
that  the  nation  hates — young,  handsome,  wicked, 
atheist — are  still  the  idol  of  the  nation.  Shall  I 
tell  you  why  it  is?  I  will  tell  you;  it  is  because 
the  English  nation  is  a  nation  of  hypocrites — 
because  while  it  turns  up  the  white  of  one  eye  in 
horror  at  the  very  whisper  of  an  impropriety,  it 
is  winking  the  wink  of  a  satyr  with  the  other  eye. 
That  is  the  truth.  You  know  it,  no  one  better. 
And  now  we  shall  have  our  quiet  shat." 

"That  will  make  a  pleasant  change,  madame," 
said  Byron. 


CHAPTER  III 

'T'HEY  had  what  Madame  de  Stael  was  pleased 
I  to  term  a  quiet  chat — that  is  to  say,  Madame 
de  Stael  talked  without  a  pause  except  when  she 
was  wiping  from  her  forehead  the  pearls  of  dew — 
gems  of  a  genius  that  knew  not  frigidity — for  half 
an  hour,  and  Byron  listened.  He  found  it  con- 
venient to  do  so,  after  he  had  made  an  attempt 
during  the  first  ten  minutes  of  their  chat  to  fling 
a  tiny  pebble  into  the  torrent  of  loquacity  which 
began  to  flow  from  her.  Madame  de  Stael  was 
always  "in  spate,"  as  it  were,  and  a  single  pebble 
of  speech  produced  no  impression  upon  her  vol- 
ume. Only  Doctor  Johnson  could  have  stemmed 
her  torrent,  for  Doctor  Johnson  flung  not  pebbles, 
but  rocks.  Possibly  one  of  his  granite  crags  of 
conversation  would  have  made  some  impression 
upon  her;  but  she  could  overwhelm  all  of  her 
contemporaries.  Her  ideal  conversationalist  was, 
she  admitted,  the  deaf-mute  whom  some  humour- 
ist had  set  down  beside  her  at  dinner. 

She  asked  Byron  a  question,  and  as  this  was 
his  first  experience  of  her,  he  fancied  that  she 
meant  him  to  answer  her ;  but  before  he  had  well 
begun,  she  had  answered  her  own  question,  and 
had  distributed  the  material  for  half  a  dozen 


202 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  203 

other  questions — as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  only 
touched  upon  questionable,  very  questionable 
topics,  and  for  every  one  she  had  her  answer 
ready,  with  a  brilliant  disquisition  by  way  of 
pendant. 

This  was  quite  delightful,  Byron  felt:  he  was 
not  an  ambitious  talker  himself,  and  in  simple 
matters  of  rhetoric  he  was  not  strenuous.  He 
felt  that  he  was  relieved  of  a  great  responsibility 
when  he  found  himself  placed  beside  a  conversa- 
tionalist so  complaisant  as  to  answer  the  ques- 
tions which  she  herself  propounded.  He  was  all 
the  more  pleased  seeing  that  so  many  of  the  ques- 
tions could  only  be  replied  to  by  a  woman  con- 
versing with  herself.  Madame  de  Stael  talked  in 
the  style  of  the  essayist  who  is  not  afraid.  No 
topic  was  too  sacred  to  be  touched  upon  by  her — 
nor  was  any  too  intimate  to  be  dealt  with  frankly 
and  brilliantly.  She  dragged  in  topics  by  the  ears 
— little  naked  imps  of  topics — from  the  congenial 
and  convenient  obscurity  in  which  civilisation  had 
allowed  them  to  carry  on  their  pranks  for  cen- 
turies, out  of  sight  if  not  quite  out  of  mind,  and 
setting  them  up  comically  on  a  stool,  without  so 
much  as  a  rag  on  their  bodies,  she  lectured  them 
on  their  wicked  ways  and  then  laughed  at  them, 
calling  on  Byron  to  do  the  same  while  she  pointed 
out  to  him  their  horrid  little  leathery  bats'  wings, 
their  venomous  claws,  their  evil  but  very  droll 
mouse  ears.  She  ended  by  making  him  feel  that 
all  these  diabolic  little  topics  were  only  droll — 


204  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

that  one  had  only  to  get  accustomed  to  their  little 
ways  to  obtain  a  deal  of  amusement  out  of  them 
— not  necessarily  innocent  amusement,  though 
some  people  fancied  that  they  deprived  them  of 
their  poison  the  moment  that  they  termed  them 
physiological  analyses. 

"Ach!  people  in  England  are  so  modest  that 
they  will  not  talk  of  these  matters  except  in  whis- 
pers even  to  their  physicians,"  she  said — it  may 
be  mentioned  that  she  maintained  in  her  pronun- 
ciation the  best  traditions  of  broken  English. 

"  That  is  why  no  conversation  is  worth  listening 
to  in  English  except  one  that  is  conducted  in 
whispers,"  remarked  Byron,  taking  advantage  of 
a  momentary  pause. 

She  paid  no  attention  to  him. 

"  That  is  why  there  has  been  no  writer  of  com- 
edy in  England  since  the  days  of  Congreve — no 
true  romance  since  Tom  Jonas.  Tom  Jonas  should 
have  marked  the  beginning  of  an  era  in  the  art 
of  romance ;  but  the  opportunity  was  missed,  and 
now  what  have  you  fallen  to  in  England?  Your 
Sheridan  has  wit,  but  it  is  more  than  twenty  years 
ago  since  he  wrote  his  School  for  Scandal,  and  what 
has  he  written  in  the  meantime?  As  for  your 
Cumberlands  and  your  Colmans — pshut!"  she 
shrugged,  and  the  lustres  twinkled  and  tinkled. 
"As  for  your  romance  writers — Mon  Dieu!  they 
fix  a  turnip  on  the  end  of  a  pole,  wrap  a  black 
cloak  about  the  stick,  keep  it  well  in  the  dark, 
and  then  whisper  to  their  friends  that  they  have 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  205 

created  a  man !  So  much  for  roman  anglais — '  The 
Mystery  of—  - '  what  you  please — '  The  Mystery  of 
— '  heaven  only  knows  what,  I  call  it." 

"And  now  of  the  poete  anglais,  Madame?"  said 
Byron. 

"  Milord  Biron,"  said  Madame,  pronouncing  the 
name  in  the  French  way,  "  there  were  no  poets  in 
England  until  you  returned  from  the  East.  There 
was  Mr.  Rogers — our  dear  friend — a  true,  good 
friend — Mr.  Rogers.  They  say  that  he  has  the 
recipe  for  the  best  pot-pourri  outside  Constantin- 
ople. A  poet?  I  tell  you  there  is  no  man  who 
has  lent  so  much  money  on  the  security  of  '  dove ' 
continuing  to  rhyme  with  'love.'  Then  there  is 
one  Wordisword — one  Southey — one  Moore — 
these  are  not  poets — they  are  poetesses — there 
you  have  a  use  for  that  beautiful  English  word 
of  yours  —  poetess.  A  poetess  is  someone  who 
writes  poetry  and  is  not  a  poet — someone  who 
writes  of  passion  in  a  ladylike  fashion.  England 
has  never  lacked  ladylike  gentlemen  to  write 
poetry  with  mittens  on  their  hands,  and  with  milk 
for  ink — they  are  so  shocked  at  the  blackness  of 
ink  that  they  use  milk — yes,  mixed  with  water. 
But  Childe  Harold  contains  the  trumpet  blast  of 
the  true  poet,  who  is  also  a  true  man.  To  be  a 
true  man  is  to  have  known  what  people  call  wick- 
edness. Wickedness  is  as  much  a  part  of  true 
manhood  as  bravery  and  virility.  It  is  written  in 
ink — black  ink — yes,  and  passages  of  it  in  blood 
—the  red  blood  that  palpitates  in  the  veins  of  a 


206  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

man  who  has  lived  his  life.  And  now  you  must 
tell  me  in  detail  some  of  the  wickedness  which 
that  charming  Childe  Harold  enjoyed  in  his  castle 
before  setting  out  in  despair  to  enjoy  more  in  the 
East." 

Of  course  she  did  not  pause  for  his  reply.  It 
never  entered  into  her  head  that  any  reply  from 
him  was  needed.  She  was  off  again  in  an  instant 
on  another  track — this  one  the  Mediterranean 
route  to  Venice,  asking  him  if  he  did  not  believe 
that  it  was  the  wickedest  place  in  Europe — 
scarcely  doing  more  than  hanging  by  the  slender 
shackle  of  a  hyphen  her  second  question  to  her 
first. 

It  was  quite  as  well  that  she  was  so  self-absorbed 
— that  she  was  so  delightfully  independent  a  con- 
verser ;  if  she  had  had  a  moment  to  spare  to  cour- 
tesy she  would  have  seen  that  Byron  was  not 
looking  at  her — that  he  had  even  fallen  out  of  the 
attitude  of  the  absorbed  listener — that  he  was 
gazing  with  some  eagerness  on  his  face,  some 
tightening  of  his  hands  upon  the  cushions  of  his 
seat,  at  a  figure  sitting  at  some  distance  from  him 
partly  in  the  shade  of  a  large  screen. 

It  was  a  soft  girlish  figure,  he  could  see,  though 
her  back  was  turned  toward  him.  He  had  not 
caught  sight  of  her  features,  but  the  moment  that 
there  was  an  ebbing  of  the  stream  of  people  from 
her  neighbourhood,  he  had  seen  the  bright  golden 
gleam  of  her  hair  playing  like  a  lambent  flame 
here  and  there  about  the  ivory  of  her  throat — the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  207 

marble  of  her  shoulders — and  curving  downward 
like  a  tongue  of  yellow  fire  about  her  ears.  The 
moment  it  flashed  upon  his  eyes,  he  gave  a 
start.  He  thought  that  he  remembered  that 
marvellous  hair,  and  recognised  the  wonder  of  its 
phosphorescent  light  gleaming  deep  beneath  the 
surface. 

He  saw  no  more.  She  was  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion with  a  man  in  a  brilliant  uniform  who  was 
standing  in  front  of  her,  and  she  did  not  move 
her  head  sufficiently  far  to  allow  Byron  a  glimpse 
even  of  her  profile.  But  he  kept  his  eyes  upon 
her  shapely  head  all  the  time  that  Madame  de 
Stael  was  answering  her  own  questions  and  im- 
parting to  him  (she  thought)  her  views  on  many 
vexed  questions  of  religion  and  morality  and  the 
sexes.  He  would  have  given  worlds  to  see  that 
head  with  the  gold  clinging  to  it  turn  in  his  direc- 
tion ;  but  this  was  after  he  had  been  gazing  at  it 
for  some  time.  If  he  had  come  upon  it  suddenly 
face  to  face,  he  believed  that  the  surprise  of  the 
meeting  would  have  been  too  much  for  him  to 
bear  without  giving  some  sign  of  what  he  felt. 
Even  now  as  he  looked  at  her  he  was  astonished 
at  the  revelation  which  was  made  to  him  of  his 
own  feeling.  He  was  astonished  to  find  that 
under  the  witchery  of  that  lambent  light  that 
quivered  about  her  head,  the  love  which  he  be- 
lieved had  passed  out  of  his  life  years  before  had 
arisen,  not  wan  with  the  pallor  of  a  ghost,  but 
warm  and  breathing.  It  was  still  a  part  of  him, 


208  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

it  still  had  the  power  to  make  him  flush — to  bring 
a  mist  before  his  eyes. 

And  all  the  time  that  he  gazed,  his  heart  full  of 
the  past — full  of  the  wonder  of  seeing  the  past 
which  he  thought  to  be  dead,  now  living  so  close 
to  him, — the  voice  of  Madame  de  Stael  went 
through  all  its  inflections  and  deflections  beside 
him,  sounding  in  his  ears  like  the  incantation  of  a 
witch  to  call  up  a  ghost. 

Was  it  really  true,  she  pretended  to  want  badly 
to  know,  that  Childe  Harold  had  had  a  secret 
adventure  at  the  Convent  at  Cadiz — that  one  of 
the  lovely  black-eyed  sisters — a  novice  not  yet 
sure  that  her  calling  had  power  to  satisfy  a  nature 
nurtured  in  the  sunny  South — or  was  the  fair  one 
a  Circassian  girl  whom  he  had  saved  from  a  flam- 
ing harem  within  easy  reach  of  the  Bosphorus? 
Not  that  she  thought  that  the  regime  of  the  harem 
was  insupportable.  There  were  women  .  .  . 
she  had  heard  that  Turkish  women  were  well 
treated — almost  as  well  as  Arab  horses.  .  .  . 
Woman  as  a  chattel  .  .  .  why  need  to  travel  to 
the  East  for  examples?  ...  in  a  convent 
.  .  .  well,  there  were  also  women  who  had  no 
higher  aspirations  than  to  awaken  punctually  at 
the  ringing  of  a  bell  to  say  a  prayer  for  a  soul 
that  most  likely  was  past  praying  for.  .  .  .  But 
there  were  instances,  she  knew,  of  these  Brides  of 
the  Church.  .  .  .  Temperament? — perhaps. 
Training? — who  could  tell?  At  any  rate,  a 
woman's  heart. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  209 

It  was  at  this  point  —  Lord  Byron  had  not 
spoken  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour — that  Lady  Hol- 
land came  up — a  beneficent  interrupter. 

"  What,  is  it  possible  that  Lord  Byron  has  been 
selfish  enough  to  monopolise  you  all  this  time, 
dear  Madame  de  Stael?"  she  cried,  turning  eyes 
of  mock  reproach  upon  the  eyes  of  the  poet.  "  Oh, 
my  lord,  this  tyranny  may  be  Oriental,  but  it  will 
not  be  tolerated  at  home." 

"True — true,  I  had  forgot,"  said  Madame. 
"Yes,  I  had  forgot  that  the  Oriental  tyranny  of 
devotion  to  one  lady  only  will  not  be  tolerated  in 
England.  It  may  do  very  well  for  the  Bosphorus, 
but  Englishmen  are  far  too  broad-minded  to  sub- 
mit to  it.  But  Milord  Biron  has  not  yet  become 
accustomed  to  English  freedom." 

"  I  have  been  so  held  in  thrall  for  the  past  half 
hour  by  the  manacles  of  wisdom  and  the  shackles 
of  wit  that  I  shrink  from  the  thought  of  freedom," 
said  Byron,  bowing,  as  Madame  de  Stael  rose  to 
greet  Lord  Melbourne.  Lord  Melbourne  came  up 
with  the  word  "supper,"  and  that  was  a  word 
which  affected  Madame  de  Stael  pretty  much  as 
the  matin  bell  does  the  devout  nun  of  whom  she 
had  been  speaking. 

"  Superb — brilliant — illuminating — speaks  like 
an  angel — one  never  tires — I  could  have  continued 
listening  to  him  for  another  hour." 

That  was  her  judgment  of  Byron,  delivered  in 
no  confidential  undertone,  while  she  walked  away 
with  Lord  Melbourne. 


210  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Lord  Melbourne  smiled. 

But  before  Madame  de  Stael  had  quite  recov- 
ered her  balance  after  responding  to  Byron's  com- 
pliment, he  had  sent  his  eyes  down  the  room  to 
the  object  on  which  they  had  been  resting.  It 
was  still  there — that  small  shapely  head  wearing 
the  nimbus  of  a  saint. 

"  Everyone  is  waiting  to  be  presented  to  you, 
Lord  Byron,"  said  Lady  Holland;  "but  I  think 
that  you  should  be  allowed  to  have  some  voice  in 
the  selection." 

She  followed  the  direction  pointed  out  by  his 
eyes. 

"I  see  that  you  are  absorbed,"  she  said  in  a 
whisper  that  emerged  from  the  centre  of  a  smile. 
"Is  she  not  exquisite?  You  have  met  her?  If 
not,  may  I ?" 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  need  to  be  pre- 
sented," said  he,  recovering  himself.  "  If  I  might 
venture " 

"Stay  with  her  for  an  hour — I  shall  be  saved 
making  any  further  excuses  to  those  who  wish  me 
to  present  them  to  you.  Madame  de  Stael  did 
admirably,  but  she — 

Lady  Holland  made  a  prettily  confidential  ges- 
ture in  the  direction  in  which  he  was  gazing,  and 
then  turned  to  a  group  on  her  right. 

Byron  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  greet 
Mary  now  that  he  had  the  chance,  being  left  alone 
for  a  minute.  He  was  conscious  of  Lord  Lans- 
downe  talking  to  a  lady  a  short  way  off,  and  he 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  2 1 1 

could  see  that  he  was  their  topic.  They  seemed 
at  the  point  of  making  a  move  toward  him.  Wait- 
ing only  for  a  few  moments,  he  made  the  pretence 
of  catching  sight  of  someone  at  a  distance  to 
whom  he  was  anxious  to  speak,  and  then  quickly 
left  the  fauteuil  against  which  he  had  been  lean- 
ing, and  took  a  few  hasty  steps  that  caused  him 
to  be  lost  in  a  crowd  broken  up  in  small  groups. 

He  was  still  able  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  knot 
of  her  hair — the  gleam  of  a  candle  was  reflected 
from  it  now  and  again ;  he  made  his  way  steadily 
toward  it,  only  keeping  somewhat  to  the  left; 
he  meant  to  pass  round  the  screen  at  one  end  of 
which  she  was  seated,  and  thus  come  upon  her 
face  to  face.  But  he  was  nervous  lest  she  should 
be  taken  away  by  someone  before  he  should 
reach  her — pairs  were  moving  toward  the  supper 
room. 

He  reached  the  screen,  slipped  alongside  of  it, 
then  quickly  round  the  farthest  leaf,  turned,  and 
took  a  rapid  step  or  two  toward  her. 

He  stopped  with  a  shock.  He  was  face  to  face 
with  her,  but — she  was  not  Mary  Chaworth. 

He  stood  there  gazing — overwhelmed  with  sur- 
prise and  displaying  his  confusion — flushing — 
turning  white — letting  his  eyes  fall  to  the  floor 
— standing  like  a  schoolboy. 

He  heard  a  little  laugh — the  rippling  of  Zephy- 
rus  among  Campanella.  He  glanced  up.  The 
lady  with  the  will-o'-the-wisp  hair  was  looking  at 
him,  on  her  face  the  dimples  that  were,  he  knew, 


212  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  dainty  footprints  of  the  laugh  which  had 
scampered  over  her  cheeks  still  visible.  The  ex- 
pression which  she  wore  was  one  of  consciousness 
of  conquest,  and  it  became  her  very  well.  It  did 
not  seem  to  be  one  to  which  her  features  had  any 
difficulty  in  accommodating  themselves.  She 
had  leaned  back  upon  the  cushion  that  lay  over  the 
shoulder  of  her  couch,  and  was  smiling  sideways 
at  him  out  of  melting  grey  eyes — eyes  that  were 
only  a  shade  lighter  than  his  own, — and  she  dis- 
played through  smiling  complaisant  lips  a  jewel 
case  of  coral,  white  and  crimson,  above  a  tiny 
chin,  overhanging  a  throat  and  interspaces  which 
her  costume — short-waisted  and  abundant  as  to 
material — emphasised;  for  the  abundance  simply 
meant  that  which  was  transparent  mingling  with 
that  which  was  diaphanous. 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  frozen  billows  that 
foamed  about  her  ankles  there  were  a  pair  of 
shapely  sandalled  feet  embroidered  in  silver,  and 
lying  among  the  muslin  waves  as  carelessly  as 
salt-frosted  seaweed  lies  just  where  the  fingers 
of  the  incoming  tide  touch. 

And  then  she  half  closed  her  eyes  and  laughed 
sideways  at  him  again. 

He  turned  with  reddening  cheeks  and  fled. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BYRON  did  not  merely  leave  the  salon,  though 
he  had  no  idea  of  doing  more  when  he  found 
himself  following  the  casual  "details"  of  the 
crowd  who  were  on  their  way  to  the  supper  room ; 
but  when  he  reached  the  great  hall  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  came  upon  his  face.  In  the  impulse  of 
the  moment  and  the  memories  that  it  brought  to 
him  of  a  night  when  a  sudden  gust  had  swept 
through  a  hall  which  he  knew,  he  went  among  the 
lines  of  lackeys  and  ordered  his  carriage.  He  was 
at  his  rooms  in  St.  James's  Street  in  a  few  minutes. 
It  was  with  an  unaccountable  sense  of  having 
saved  himself  by  flight  from  a  threatened  danger 
that  he  threw  himself  upon  his  sofa.  He  had  so 
great  a  sense  of  relief  that  he  found  himself  taking 
a  deep  breath  and  then  sighing  it  away.  And  yet 
when  he  began  to  think  what  it  was  that  he  had 
escaped,  he  found  it  difficult  to  define.  To  be  sure 
he  had  for  a  few  minutes  found  himself  looking 
awkward  and  being  looked  at  and  laughed  at  in 
his  awkwardness.  But  he  could  have  regained  his 
composure  after  being  on  the  skirts  of  this  con- 
tretemps, in  one  of  the  supper  rooms  of  the  house. 
The  blaze  of  lustrous  candelabra  and  the  gaze  of 
an  admiring  crowd — he  took  the  admiration  for 

213 


214  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

granted — would  quickly  have  restored  the  amour 
propre  of  even  the  most  sensitive  man. 

Yet  he  lay  there  smiling,  as  if  by  the  exercise 
of  some  adroitness  he  had  contrived  to  escape, 
but  only  just  to  escape,  a  great  danger. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  had  the  impres- 
sion that  if  the  charming  creature  who  had  so 
startled  him  twice — first,  when  he  had  taken  her 
for  someone  else,  and  again,  when  he  had  found 
out  his  mistake — had  continued  laughing  at  him, 
something  would  have  happened. 

But  what  would  have  happened  that  could  pos- 
sibly be  thought  of  as  a  danger  to  himself? 

He  knew  that  if  he  had  recently  become  more 
thoughtful  than  he  had  ever  been  to  maintain  a 
pose  of  some  dignity,  he  had  a  sufficient  sense  of 
comedy  to  prevent  his  feeling  greatly  hurt  by  a 
pretty  woman  laughing  in  his  face,  although  he 
had  certainly  not  been  accustomed  to  the  spec- 
tacle. If  she  had  continued  laughing,  he  would 
assuredly  have  joined  her ;  and  then 

And  then? 

Was  it  possible  that  this  was  the  danger  of 
which  he  had  had  an  animal's  instinct, — the  in- 
timacy suggested  by  the  idea  of  their  voices  being 
joined  together  in  the  laugh? 

He  thought  of  her  attitude  on  the  couch  when 
he  had  turned  at  the  end  of  the  screen  and  had 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  her.  His  friend 
Douglas  Kennaird  had  once  told  him  a  hunting 
experience  that  he  had  had  in  the  Caucasus.  He 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  215 

had  tracked  a  bear  all  the  day  through  one  of  the 
passes  of  the  mountains,  and  expected  to  be  near 
enough  to  have  a  shot  at  it  before  sunset.  He 
was  crawling  on  his  hands  and  knees  round  a  nar- 
row ledge  of  rock  that  jutted  out  from  the  shoulder 
of  the  hill,  and  just  as  he  got  round  the  projecting 
point  he  found  himself  looking  into  the  eyes  of  a 
leopard. 

He  felt  that  he  had  never  before  quite  appre- 
ciated Kennaird's  description  of  his  surprise  and 
the  effect  that  it  had  on  him. 

Of  course  his  friend  had  had  a  lively  sense  of 
escaping  from  an  awkward  situation;  but  it  was 
only  with  regard  to  the  surprise  that  the  recollec- 
tion of  Kennaird's  experience  came  back  to  him, 
not  with  regard  to  his  escape ;  but  still 

He  had  only  seen  her  for  a  few  seconds  in  that 
exquisite  attitude  into  which  she  had  naturally 
dropped  when  she  had  become  interested  in  his 
surprise,  and  his  boy's  way  of  showing  it.  (He 
was  still  enough  of  a  boy  to  blush  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  how  he  had  blushed.)  He  could  not  have 
been  looking  at  her  for  more  than  half  a  dozen 
seconds;  but  that  space  was  quite  sufficient  to 
cause  him  to  feel  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more 
fascinating  picture.  He  did  not  know  who  the 
woman  was — he  knew  who  she  was  not — but  be- 
yond a  doubt  she  was  almost  beautiful.  Her  com- 
plexion was  transparent,  and  her  figure,  revealed 
down  to  the  arch  of  her  instep  by  her  soft,  cling- 
ing costume,  was  gracious  in  every  line.  His 


216  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

heart  responded  to  the  subtle  confidences  of  her 
costume;  and  then — and  then  he  had  heard  her 
laugh  and  had  turned  and  fled  to  the  sound  of  the 
further  fluting  of  her  laughter. 

And  now  when  he  thought  of  her  he  began  to 
wonder  how  he  had  ever  been  stupid  enough  to 
fancy  that  her  hair  had  any  resemblance  to  that 
which  he  had  seen  flowing  over  the  white  garment 
of  a  girl  with  bare  feet  that  made  a  gentle  patter- 
ing on  the  oak  floor.  It  was  not  the  same.  The 
one  had  the  living  golden  gloss  of  a  phosphor- 
escent wave;  whereas  this  that  he  had  just  seen 
had  the  pale  flicker  of  the  wisp  of  the  morass.  It 
was  lovely,  but  not  with  the  loveliness  of  the  first. 
He  had  been  very  stupid  in  this  matter — he  had 
been  stupid  all  through  this  incident.  He  had 
actually  run  away  because  she  had  laughed  at  him. 
That  was  a  pretty  thing  for  a  man  to  do  who  had 
been  on  terms  of  considerable  intimacy  with  a 
good  many  women  in  a  good  many  climes,  espe- 
cially those  whose  reputation  was  not  goodly! 
He  had  actually  run  away!  .  .  . 

He  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  might  not  yet 
be  too  late  to  retrieve  his  position — to  teach  her 
that,  although  a  man  may,  in  the  impulse  of  a 
great  surprise,  blush  for  a  moment,  yet  he  may 
still  .  .  . 

It  was  all  in  vain.  He  could  not  bluster  him- 
self up  to  a  point  of  feeling  that  he  had  not  done 
well  in  running  away — in  procrastinating  the  mo- 
ment for  which  that  beautiful  creature  (whoever 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  217 

she  was)  waited,  alert  and  alluring.  He  knew 
that  he  had  only  looked  foolish  in  her  eyes  for 
something  more  than  a  minute.  He  wondered  if 
he  had  not,  after  all,  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
repute-  for  wisdom  by  running  away.  He  won- 
dered if  a  beautiful  woman  who  set  herself  out  to 
be  alluring,  ever  forgave  a  man  for  running  away. 
Did  such  a  woman  ever  forgive  a  man  for  display- 
ing his  wisdom  at  the  expense  of  her  vanity? 

Thus  Byron  the  poet,  idolised  by  woman,  dis- 
cussed in  his  own  mind  the  philosophy  of  a 
woman's  vanity,  arriving,  of  course,  at  no  definite 
conclusion  on  the  subject,  but  being  swayed  in 
the  impulse  of  his  own  vanity,  which  assumed  the 
alias  of  philosophy,  first  in  one  direction  and  then 
in  another.  His  vanity  was  in  excellent  working 
order,  though  never  poet  lived  who  had  less;  it 
was  so  active  that  it  prevented  his  recognising 
the  truth,  which  was  that  he  felt  he  had  been 
guilty  of  treason  to  the  love  which  had  taught 
him  that  he  was  a  poet,  in  taking  the  one  hair  for 
the  other.  It  was  this  feeling  which  caused  him 
to  fly  from  the  room,  and  imparted  to  him  that 
curious  impression — he  was  still  conscious  of  it — 
that  he  had  made  good  his  escape  from  some  in- 
definable danger. 

He  did  not  go  to  bed  for  some  time  and  it  took 
him  an  hour  to  sleep,  and  yet  among  all  the 
thoughts  that  came  to  him  there  was  not  one  that 
suggested  the  possibility  of  people  talking  about 
his  sudden  and  unaccountable  disappearance  from 


218  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Lady  Holland's  reception  where  he  was  supposed 
to  be  the  central  figure.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
to  think  that  the  expression  of  consciousness  of 
conquest  which  was  on  the  face  of  the  beautiful 
woman  on  the  couch  was  becoming  to  her  fea- 
tures because  it  was  so  frequently  worn  as  to  have 
become  habitual  with  her.  He  had  no  idea  that 
she  would  be  clever  enough  to  turn  to  her  own 
advantage  before  the  world  an  incident  which  she 
shared  with  him  alone — it  really  would  scarcely 
bear  to  be  thought  of  as  an  incident — it  was  only 
a  start  and  a  blush  and  a  sudden  disappearance ; 
and  yet  by  her  adroitness  it  became  a  beginning. 

Moore  called  upon  him  before  he  had  drunk 
his  morning  bottle  of  soda  water — it  was  one  of 
his  biscuit  and  soda  water  days.  The  Irishman 
was  so  roguishly  enigmatical  as  to  be  quite  un- 
intelligible. 

"A  victim!"  he  cried,  with  burlesque  sigh  and 
a  raising  and  lowering  of  the  eyes.  "  Is  it  a  vic- 
tim that  you  are,  my  lord,  or  a  conquering  hero? " 

"That's  what  I  should  like  greatly  to  know," 
said  Byron.  "The  two  issues  are  commonly  so 
confounded  it  needs  the  opinion  of  a  poet  and  a 
man  of  the  world  like  yourself  to  determine  which 
is  which." 

"A  willing  victim  in  such  a  case — only  there 
never  was  such  another  case,"  said  Moore. 
"  Heavens !  such  rapidity  of  conquest !  But,  then, 
there  never  was  quite  such  another  as  Lord  Byron, 
And  as  for  her  ladyship — well,  to  be  sure,  there 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  219 

was  Cleopatra.  But  within  an  hour,  heavens! 
And  Lady  Holland  says  that  she  offered  to  pre- 
sent you,  and  that  you  said  you  were  acquainted 
with  her  already.  Madame  de  Stael,  when  she 
heard  the  whispers,  had  her  laugh,  and  her  epi- 
gram and  her  shrug — the  shrug  was  set  in  the 
epigram — a  living  fly  in  the  amber." 

"Do  you  remember  what  this  marvellous  epi- 
gram was? "  asked  Byron.  "  If  you  tell  me  what 
it  was  and  to  what  it  referred,  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  give  you  my  opinion  as  to  its  aptness.  Mean- 
time, it  is  difficult  to  appreciate  either  the  amber 
or  the  fly.  What  happened  at  Lady  Holland's 
after  I  left — you  may  not  know  that  I  went  away 
quite  early." 

Moore  twinkled  merrily  for  a  moment,  and  then 
burst  into  a  loud  laugh  that  threatened  the  sta- 
bility of  his  stock. 

"  You  carry  the  whole  thing  off  with  a  splendid 
air,"  he  cried.  "Upon  my  soul  you  do!  But, 
my  dear  friend,  take  my  advice  and  never  try  to 
play  a  part  with  your  attorney  or  your  confiden- 
tial poet.  Oh!  you  left  early ,  did  you ?  Sly — sly, 
my  Lord  Byron!  Well,  you  confess,  and  that  dis- 
arms the  suspicious.  But  what's  the  value  of  a 
confession  when  I  was  there  to  see  for  myself?" 

"Oh,  for  heaven's  sake!  man,  say  what  you 
came  here  to  say  at  once,  and  do  not  keep  on  that 
'I  could  and  I  would'  air,"  cried  Byron,  with 
some  measure  of  irritation.  "  What  is  it  that  you 
came  here  to  say?  You  cannot  tell  me  that  any 


220  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

one  knew  why  I  went  away  so  early.  No  one 
knows  but  myself." 

"  Therefore  everyone  has  a  right  to  a  guess  at 
the  reason,  and  they  had  their  guess  and  they  all 
guessed  the  same  thing,"  said  Moore. 

"When  they  are  unanimous  their  unanimity  is 
astonishing,"  said  Byron.  "And  were  you  made 
aware  of  the  conclusion  they  came  to?  —  but 
you  may  have  been  yourself  among  those  who 
conjectured?" 

"There  is  none  like  her  in  the  world,"  said 
Moore.  "  If  she  had  been  born  a  man  she  would 
be  to-day  the  greatest  commander  alive.  Gra- 
cious heavens!  the  thought  of  her  achievements 
sweeps  one  off  one's  feet!  Such  sweet  audacity! 
such  adorable  daring!  I  give  you  my  word  that 
Rogers  himself — well,  it  was  said  that  Rogers  was 
once  foremost  in  her  train." 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  confidential  whisper, 
and  he  held  up  a  hand  of  awe  as  he  made  his 
revelation. 

"Is  it  possible — Rogers — actually  Rogers?" 
said  Byron,  in  exactly  the  same  tone.  "  I  would 
not  have  believed  it." 

"That  is  because  you  do  not  know  her  suffi- 
ciently well,"  said  Moore. 

"Faith,  that  is  a  very  plausible  reason,"  said 
Byron.  "  I  believe  that  I  do  not  know  her  suffi- 
ciently well,  considering  that  I  do  not  know  her 
at  all.  Look  you  here,  Thomas  the  Rimer;  at- 
tend to  me  while  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  221 

that  since  I  addressed  my  feeble  remark  to  Ma- 
dame de  Stael — a  remark  that  was  like  a  child's 
hiccup  in  the  centre  of  a  thunderstorm — I  have 
uttered  no  word  to  any  woman,  good — like  a  few 
of  them;  bad — like  most  of  them;  or  indifferent 
— like  all  of  them.  Come  now,  out  with  your 
story,  keeping  this  affirmation  as  your  basis. 
Don't  force  me  to  tell  my  man  Fletcher  to  clean 
up  my  pistols." 

"What,"  cried  Moore,  "you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  did  not  talk  with  Lady  Caroline  Lamb? 
— that  you  did  not  go  with  her — my  dear  lord,  you 
must  surely  have  heard  enough  of  her  to  know 
that  in  a  little  affair  of  this  kind 

"The  little  affair  is  less  than  little:  it  is  non- 
existent. I  never  spoke  to  Lady  Caroline  Lamb 
in  my  life.  Of  course,  I  have  heard  of  her;  but 
I  have  not  the  honour  of  her  acquaintance.  I 
do  not  know  her  even  by  sight.  Was  she  at  Lady 
Holland's  last  night?" 

"  Lady  Holland  said  that  you  told  her  that  you 
were  acquainted  with  Lady  Caroline,  and  that 
you  went  to  her  side  the  moment  you  escaped  the 
de  Stael." 

"Then  Lady  Holland  said  what  was — Great 
Bacchus !  I  begin  to  perceive  from  what  quarter 
the  wind  blows.  Lady  Caroline — a  fascinating 
creature  with  hair  like — like  a  will  o'  the  wisp, 
and  a  figure  to  correspond?" 

"  I  thought  you  must  have  seen  her.  So,  then, 
the  story  is — 


222  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"More  ridiculous  than  ever.  This  is  the  true 
story :  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  back  of  a  shapely 
head  while  I  was  pretending  to  listen  to  Madame 
de  Stael's  diatribes.  I  was  foolish  enough  to  think 
that  the  hair  resembled  that  of — of  a  lady  whom 
I  knew  some  years  ago,  and  when  the  de  Stael 
had  left  me  free  I  mentioned  to  Lady  Holland 
that  I  was  going  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with 
that  lady — no  name  was  mentioned — there  was 
no  need.  Lady  Holland  said,  'You  know  her?' 
indicating — I  now  suppose — Lady  Caroline  Lamb. 
I  said  'Yes,'  meaning  not  Lady  Caroline,  but  my 
friend.  When  I  got  face  to  face  with  her,  I  was 
startled  to  find  that  she  was  a  stranger.  I  turned 
and  fled — straight  to  my  rooms.  That's  the 
whole  true  story." 

The  Irishman  looked  comically  solemn  for  some 
moments,  and  then  the  catspaw  of  a  smile  on  his 
face  was  shaken  to  a  storm  of  laughter. 

"It  is  not  all — the  best  has  to  come;  you  are 
not  acquainted  with  it,"  he  cried.  "You  could 
not  have  been  gone  more  than  a  few  minutes  when 
Lady  Caroline  disappeared  as  mysteriously  as  you 
had.  You  were  quickly  missed  from  the  salon,  and 
one  of  the  men  said  that  you  had  called  for  your 
carriage  and  driven  away.  Immediately  afterward 
Lady  Caroline  was  not  to  be  found.  More  inqui- 
ries in  the  hall — result :  her  ladyship  had  also  called 
for  her  carriage  and  driven  away.  Now  you  can 
understand  what  was  the  topic  that  enlivened  the 
latter  part  of  our  evening  at  St.  James's  Square." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  223 

"  No,  that  I  cannot,"  cried  Byron.  "  What,  sir, 
cannot  a  man  take  his  carriage  to  his  own  door 
without  its  being  assumed  by  his  hostess  and  his 
fellow-guests  that  he  is  running  away  with  the 
next  lady  who  leaves  the  same  house  ?  I  tell  you, 
Moore,  it  is  too  bad.  Lord!  what  is  this  society 
to  which  I  have  returned?  Is  it  all  so  corrupt 
that  people  take  it  for  granted  that  if  a  man  and 
a  woman  leave  a  house,  even  in  separate  carriages, 
mind  you,  within  an  hour  of  one  another,  they 
have  an  assignation?  If  this  is  your  England, 
give  me  Constantinople  and  my  Turks." 

Moore  smiled,  but  gravely. 

"My  dear  Lord  Byron,"  he  said,  "pray  don't 
talk  of  England  as  if  I  owned  it.  Ireland  is  my 
country  and  the  deadly  enemy  to  England  for 
many  years.  But  let  me  say  that  in  this  special 
bit  of  gossip — 

"Bit  of  gossip?  Miserable  slander,  if  you 
please!" 

"  Lady  Caroline  would  not  thank  you  to  defend 
her  respectability  at  the  expense  of  her  adventur- 
ousness.  No,  the  truth  is  that  we  have  been  won- 
dering for  the  past  some  time  what  the  next 
escapade  of  Lady  Caroline  would  be.  Her  hus- 
band is  said  to  have  been  quite  uneasy,  't  is  un- 
natural for  her  to  remain  so  long  calm.  Her 
pauses  are  seldom  of  such  duration." 

"That  is  all  very  well.  But  why  pay  her  the 
bad  compliment  of  assuming  that  I  must  be  the 
other  cloud  to  attract  this  charming  electrical 


224  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

creature,  and  so  precipitate  a  storm  that  seems 
to  have  been  looming  for  some  time?" 

"  I  am  afraid  that  our  friends  take  too  literally 
the  personality  of  Childe  Harold,"  replied  Moore. 

"Our  friends?  Our  enemies  rather,"  said 
Byron,  quickly. 

"Our  best  friends  are  invariably  our  worst 
enemies,"  said  Moore.  "I  am  afraid  that  you 
will  never  be  forgiven  for  not  running  away  with 
Lady  Caroline.  Certainly  her  husband  will  never 
forgive  you  for  the  omission." 

"  Heavens,  you  Irishman,  I  cannot  be  expected 
to  run  away  with  a  woman  to  whom  I  have  never 
spoken,  merely  to  oblige  her  husband,"  cried 
Byron.  "  If  it  became  known  that  I  was  so  oblig- 
ing I  should  need  to  have  the  Bank  of  England 
behind  me  and  Carlton  House  before  me  to  meet 
all  the  demands  that  would  be  made  upon  me. 
Enough  of  this,  my  friend.  You  may  let  it  be 
known  as  soon  as  you  please  that  the  history  of 
Childe  Harold  is  not  an  authentic  autobiography." 

Moore  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  making  the  announcement," 
said  he;  "but  the  public  will  continue  to  take  it 
as  such,  and  to  buy  it  as  such." 

"Then,  in  heaven's  name,  let  them  take  it  for 
what  it  is:  the  autobiography  of  a  rake  who  has 
seen  the  error  of  his  ways  and  amended  them." 

Moore  laughed  slyly. 

"I  believe  that  you  have  hit  on  the  only  way 
that  remained  to  you  to  give  an  additional  coat 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  225 

of  blacking  to  your  character,  and  so  to  increase 
your  interest  in  the  eyes  of  the  public,"  said  he. 
"  Childe  Harold  the  profligate,  who,  determined  to 
reform,  went  to  Constantinople  to  carry  out  his 
cure  ajid  then  came  to  London  to  complete  it! 
Lord  Byron,  I  shall  drop  in  with  Murray  and  tell 
him  to  print  another  edition  on  the  strength  of 
this  advertisement." 

"You  may  go  to  the — the  publisher,  and  be 
hanged  to  you  all !  I  wish  that  I  had  never  come 
back  to  this  miserable  place  of  petty  scandal  and 
kitchen  intrigue." 

Again  Moore  was  tickled. 

"  That 's  all  very  well  in  its  way, ' '  said  he.  "  But 
to  be  the  author  of  a  popular  poem  is  to  become 
the  servant  of  the  public,  and  you  will  find  that 
you  must  run  away  with  Lady  Caroline  Lanib 
because  it  is  expected  of  you." 

"I'll  do  it  by  deputy,  Moore,"  said  Byron. 

Moore,  who  had  not  yet  quite  paid  off  his  liabil- 
ities on  account  of  his  deputy  in  the  office  of  Col- 
lector at  Barbadoes,  shook  his  fist  at  his  friend 

and  then  waved  him  an  adieu. 
15 


CHAPTER  V 

BYRON'S  annoyance  at  the  report  which  Moore 
had  brought  to  him  was  sincere ;  but  it  was 
not  long  lived.  He  reflected  that,  after  all,  he 
had  not  been  accused  by  the  gossips  of  any  act 
which  society  looked  on  as  a  crime.  English  so- 
ciety in  his  day  was,  quite  as  much  as  it  is  in  ours, 
disposed  to  take  a  lenient  view  of  such  an  incident 
as  that  which  was  laid  to  his  charge — to  his  credit, 
rather,  Moore,  would  have  it.  There  are  some 
people  who  prefer  the  voiceless  shrug  of  tolera- 
tion, when  referring  to  the  reappearance  among 
their  usual  associates  of  the  participators  in  these 
little  fantastic  steps  in  the  serious  minuet  of  mar- 
riage; but  there  are  others  who  bite  their  lips, 
lower  their  heads,  and  then  look  up  with  eyes  that 
barely  refrain  from  laughter;  again  there  are 
some  who  lean  across  the  table  with  one  protective 
palm  held  sideways  at  their  mouth,  while  they 
whisper  the  toothsome  details  to  their  friends. 
But  the  end  of  all  is  laughter  and  good  humour, 
and  an  expression  of  wonder  what  the  world  is 
coming  to. 

But  to  say  that  society  has  not  its  rigidities 
would  be  ridiculous.  Byron  knew  that  it  has: 
"  You  must  not  be  found  out  cheating  at  cards." 

226 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  227 

"Outside  the  card-room  the  Ten  Command- 
ments are  obsolete ;  within  the  card-room  people 
are  more  religious,  they  retain  one,"  said  Byron, 
when  his  rooms  were  deserted  on  the  departure  of 
a  great  lady  with  her  sole  unwedded  daughter, 
that  same  afternoon.  His  moralisings  when 
Moore  had  gone  were  interrupted  by  his  accus- 
tomed visitors.  They  had  come  by  the  dozen 
during  the  weeks  that  followed  the  first  blaze  of 
the  meteor,  Childe  Harold,  but  this  day  they  came 
by  the  score.  Two  duchesses  (with  daughters) ; 
three  ex-ministers  (with  wives) ;  a  peeress  or  two, 
and  then  the  general  circle  where  fashion  and  let- 
ters met,  and  occasionally  shook  hands.  His 
rooms  had  never  been  crowded  before;  and  he 
noticed  how  so  many  of  his  visitors,  immediately 
on  entering,  glanced  furtively  into  dim  corners 
and  peeped  behind  screens  and  pedestals,  as  if 
expecting  to  find  Lady  Caroline  concealed  some- 
where. 

But  everyone  had  been  very  pleasant  and  gra- 
cious, and  some  even  gay  as  well  as  witty.  The 
silken  swish  of  scandal  went  round  certain  groups, 
and  there  was  a  pretty  uplifting  of  hands — play- 
ing at  being  shocked,  parodying  the  prude.  Here 
there  was  merriment.  In  other  groups  there  was 
in  the  conversation  something  like  the  beating 
of  time;  they  were  talking  of  some  forthcoming 
poem,  and  here  there  was  solemnity. 

Byron's  annoyance  on  hearing  Moore's  story 
had  long  ago  vanished,  and  when  he  found  him- 


228  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

self  alone  he  discovered  that  it  had  given  place  to 
a  certain  admiration  of  the  cleverness  of  the  young 
woman  who  must  have  observed  his  departure 
and  made  up  her  mind  to  set  the  tongues  of  that 
distinguished  company  wagging,  almost  compell- 
ing them  to  associate  her  name  with  his  in  a  trans- 
action which  could  not  fail  to  be  talked  about. 
When  he  hurried  away  from  Lady  Holland's  on 
the  previous  night  he  had  not  thought  about  the 
act  being  an  unusual  one,  though  it  occurred  to 
him  before  he  went  to  sleep  that  it  would  bear  to 
be  so  interpreted.  But  that  young  woman  must 
have  known  perfectly  well  that  it  was  an  unusual 
act,  and  that  to  be  followed  almost  immediately 
by  her  own  disappearance  would  cause  it  to  be 
regarded  as  an  extraordinary  one.  He  had  also 
an  impression  that  she  knew  that  people  would 
not  talk  of  each  act  separately ;  they  would  take 
very  good  care  to  link  the  one  with  the  other  and 
talk  about  them  as  if  they  constituted  a  single 
incident. 

That  meant  that  the  young  woman  meant  that 
her  name  should  be  joined  with  his  precisely  as 
had  been  done  by  their  friends  before  many  hours 
had  passed. 

But  what  could  her  object  be? 

That  he  found  rather  more  difficult  to  deter- 
mine. Had  she  been  impelled  by  a  sort  of  school- 
girl's love  of  mischief  to  lead  on  her  friends  to  the 
discovery  of  a  mare's  nest?  or  did  she  wish  to 
punish  him  for  his  impudent  bashfulness  when  he 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  229 

stood  before  her?  Perhaps  she  wished  to  teach 
him  a  lesson  in  good  manners;  or  was  it  in  self- 
possession,  which  some  people  consider  the  be- 
ginning and  the  end  of  all  good  manners  ? 

He  had  frequently  heard  of  Lady  Caroline  Lamb 
since  his  return  from  the  East ;  but  he  had  never 
before  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  her.  Now 
and  again  he  had  heard  her  name  bandied  about  a 
club  card-room,  in  connection  with  some  freak  of 
hers — in  connection  with  some  jeu  d'esprit  of  hers, 
as  bright  as  a  surgeon's  knife,  and  as  sharp-edged. 
She  was  undoubtedly  the  most  unconventional 
creature  that  ever  made  a  man's  life  a  burden  to 
him,  that  man  being  her  husband,  and  she  main- 
tained her  reputation  (for  unconventionality)  un- 
sullied by  a  single  sensible  record,  so  that  for  three 
or  four  years  she  was  a  fearful  joy  to  hostesses 
who  were  content  to  overlook  the  convenances 
in  order  to  secure  a  possible  source  of  attraction 
to  a  necessary  guest  or  two. 

People  knew  a  good  many  things  that  she  had 
done,  but  no  one  was  bold  enough  to  say  what  she 
would  do  next.  It  was  only  safe  to  say  that  she 
would  not  repeat  herself.  No  matter  how  foolish 
was  the  thing  she  had  done  she  would  not  repeat 
it.  She  seemed  to  have  inexhaustible  resources 
of  shocking  within  herself  and  an  originality  in 
foolishness  that  almost  amounted  to  genius.  If 
she  had  not  been  amusing,  and  the  wife  of  Lord 
Melbourne's  heir,  she  would  soon  have  ceased  to 
jingle  in  such  salons  as  Lady  Holland's;  but  her 


230  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

wit  and  her  vulgarity  made  her  welcome  in  a  so- 
ciety where  both  qualities  were  essential  to  suc- 
cess, before  an  economical  age  had  agreed  to 
admit  candidates  who  possessed  only  one  of  the 
two. 

Byron  was  more  than  languidly  interested  in 
this  remarkable  young  woman  who  had  voluntar- 
ily linked  her  name  with  his  in  an  affair  that  could 
not  but  be  widely  discussed  from  many  a  stand- 
point, including  that  which  recognised  the  exist- 
ence of  her  husband,  a  man  of  distinction  and 
considerable  force  of  character.  Byron's  life  had 
been  too  full  of  daring  not  to  make  him  apprecia- 
tive of  any  display  of  this  quality  in  another.  His 
very  birth  was  accounted  in  some  quarters  an  act 
of  daring,  and  he  had  never  been  conventional 
since.  After  thinking  about  Lady  Caroline  for  an 
hour  or  two,  he  found  himself  longing  to  meet  her 
again.  He  was  thinking  about  her  hair.  She 
was  the  star  upon  the  surface  of  the  mere  that  had 
led  him  to  think  for  a  moment  of  the  star  that  had 
once  been  high  in  his  heaven.  He  had  mistaken 
the  pale  reflex  on  the  water  for  that  star,  and  now 
he  had  become  quite  interested  in  her  pale  beauty. 
He  wondered  when  he  should  have  a  chance  of 
meeting  her.  Would  it  be  necessary  for  him  to 
be  presented  to  her?  Would  she  not  burst  out 
laughing  when  some  hostess  linked  their  names  in 
going  through  the  formality? 

He  went  to  two  receptions  full  of  eager  anticipa- 
tion; and  was  almost  petulant  when  he  found 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  231 

that  she  had  been  asked  to  neither  of  them.  What 
could  hostesses  mean  by  inviting  him  without  her? 
That  was  the  question  which  he  put  to  himself 
each  night  driving  to  his  rooms.  When  the  scan- 
dal of  society  had  associated  their  names  who  were 
the  hostesses  that  they  should  put  them  asunder? 

After  an  interval  of  a  day  or  two  he  heard  her 
name  sent  flying  down  the  line  of  lackeys  at  a  ball 
given  by  Lady  Westmoreland.  She  had  just  en- 
tered in  advance  of  him.  The  fellows  nearest  the 
ballroom  door  were  calling  her  name  when  those 
nearest  the  entrance  were  speaking  his;  so  that 
once  again  their  names  mingled,  and  loungers 
about  the  doors  of  the  room  smiled  and  gave  each 
other — those  of  them  who  were  on  terms  that 
allowed  of  an  exchange  of  confidences — playful, 
but  expressive  finger-thrusts,  or  significant  jerks 
of  the  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  shoulder. 

He  fancied  he  noticed  some  of  these  signs  as  he 
passed  down  the  lines  of  gazing  young  women — 
and  old  women  also ;  his  entrance  had  made  them 
breathless ;  they  flocked  round  him  when  he  had 
passed  and  was  greeting  his  hostess.  He  glanced 
about  him  when  he  had  reached  one  of  the  little 
settees  that  stood  between  the  high  console  tables 
with  the  enormous  branches  of  candles  surrounded 
by  quivering  crystal  prisms,  springing  out  from 
the  centre  of  the  mirrors — he  looked  about  him, 
but  failed  to  see  her. 

He  was  greatly  disappointed,  but  only  at  first; 
it  did  not  take  him  long  to  reflect  upon  the  fact 


232  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

that  this  capricious  creature  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  do  anything  in  an  ordinary  way — that 
she  could  not  even  be  passively  ordinary :  she  was 
bound  to  be  elusive  and  unusual.  She  knew  that 
he  would  look  round  expecting  to  see  her,  there- 
fore she  would  take  good  care  to  be  beyond  the 
range  of  his  eyes.  He  had  no  doubt  that  she  was 
preparing  to  startle  him  and,  incidentally,  the  re- 
mainder of  the  people  in  the  ball-room.  It  was 
necessary  for  him  to  be  prepared  for  any  caprice 
that  might  seize  her. 

It  was  Lady  Westmoreland  herself  who  asked 
him  for  permission  to  present  Lady  Caroline  Lamb 
to  him.  He  fancied  that  he  detected  a  little 
twitch  of  the  mobile  lips  of  his  hostess  as  she  said : 

"  I  had  somehow  acquired  the  notion  that  you 
were  already  acquainted  with  Lady  Caroline ;  but 
she  tells  me  that  you  have  never  met." 

"  She  speaks  the  truth :  I  have  never  been  for- 
tunate enough  to  meet  her  ladyship,"  said  Byron. 

"  How  strange!  Someone  must  be  to  blame  for 
so  grave  an  omission,"  said  Lady  Westmoreland. 
"What  has  society  done  to  justify  its  existence 
if  Lady  Caroline  Lamb  and  Lord  Byron  remain 
unacquainted  ? ' ' 

"Your  ladyship  will,  with  your  usual  tact,  re- 
pair the  carelessness  of  months,"  said  Byron. 
"  Shall  I  accompany  you  in  search  of  the  fascina- 
tion whom  you  named?" 

"I  could  not  think  of  allowing  you:  I  shall 
bring  her  to  your  lordship,"  cried  Lady  Westmore- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  233 

land,  and  no  one  present  seemed  to  think  that  the 
position  of  royalty  should  not  be  accorded  to  him 
in  such  a  matter  as  the  presentation  of  a  young 
woman  occupying  the  highest  position  in  the 
social  world. 

She  tripped  up,  Lady  Westmoreland  leading 
her  by  a  dainty  finger.  She  carried  her  train — it 
was  like  the  foam  of  a  breaking  wave — over  her 
left  arm,  her  jewelled  feet  were  twinkling.  She 
was  looking  timidly  down  while  she  advanced, 
and  everyone  saw  that  she  was  playing  the  part 
of  a  bashful  girl  extremely  well.  (One  of  the  wits 
said  that  it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  an  actor 
was  best  in  a  part  which  was  quite  contrary  to  his 
nature.)  Lady  Westmoreland  seemed  to  be  bid- 
ding her  to  take  courage. 

When  within  a  couple  of  yards  of  where  Byron 
was  standing,  she  stood,  her  eyes  still  on  the  floor 
and  their  long  lashes  on  her  cheeks,  her  left  hand 
pressed  against  her  left  side.  She  had  become  a 
statue  of  the  demure.  He  took  a  step  forward, 
and  Lady  Westmoreland  said  the  usual  phrase  of 
introduction.  He  bowed  low,  whispering: 

"  This  is  indeed  an  honour; "  but  Lady  Caroline 
did  not  stir!  She  remained  marble — a  statue  of 
femininity.  There  was  a  long  pause — an  embar- 
rassing pause.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  ready  to 
faint — her  body  was  surely  beginning  to  totter; 
but  just  as  an  arm  was  about  to  be  put  about  her, 
she  raised  her  eyes  with  the  suddenness  of  a  flash 
— with  the  suddenness  of  a  blow.  She  looked  at 


234  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Byron  steadily  in  the  face  for  a  few  seconds,  then, 
quick  as  lightning,  she  dropped  the  foam  wreath 
from  her  arm,  and  whirled  herself  half  a  dozen 
yards  away  from  him,  as  though  he  had  made  an 
attempt  to  lay  a  hand  on  her  and  she  were  eluding 
him.  Then  she  stopped,  looked  over  her  shoulder, 
and  laughed  at  him  just  as  she  had  laughed  on 
Lady  Holland's  couch.  Still  laughing  in  the  most 
musically  mischievous  way  imaginable,  she  floated 
away  •  sideways,  slowly  for  some  moments,  and 
then  turning  round  and  flying  with  her  diaphan- 
ous draperies  flying  behind  her — a  veritable  Diana 
Surprised  by  a  Man.  Only  in  this  case  it  was  the 
man  who  was  surprised— too  surprised  to  laugh, 
but  certainly  not  to  blush.  But  in  a  few  moments 
he  was  joining  in  the  laughter  that  rippled  around 
him.  Everyone  was  laughing,  and  nearly  every- 
one was  admitting  that  the  tableau  had  been 
charming  while  it  lasted.  Byron  said  that  he  had 
seen  an  Albanian  dance  that  was  very  like  all  this 
— a  girl  facing  a  man,  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
then  suddenly  turning  and  flying,  and  stopping 
and  looking  over  her  shoulder. 

"Only  in  the  dance  the  girl  returned,"  said  he. 

"Lady  Caroline  should  have  learned  her  part 
better,"  said  Lady  Westmoreland. 

"  Your  ladyship  should  not  be  too  exacting :  the 
evening  is  not  over,"  remarked  someone — a  man. 

"True,"  said  her  ladyship.  "But  it  would  be 
like  Lady  Caroline  to  give  a  new  interpretation  of 
an  old  dance." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  235 

"A  dance  that  is  as  old  as  the  little  hills  that 
once  skipped — as  old  even  as  the  big  ones  that 
were  too  gouty  to  skip,"  said  a  philosopher. 

"The  sets  are  being  arranged  for  a  quadrille — 
a  skip  from  Albania  to  Mayfair,"  said  Byron.  "  I 
dare  say  that  Lady  Caroline  will  be  content  with 
the  less  exciting  diversion  until  she  finds  herself 
in  the  midst  of  the  brigands  of  Asia  Minor." 

"There  are  several  Tory  ministers  of  Albion 
Major  present ;  would  she  be  able  to  see  the  differ- 
ence, do  you  fancy?"  said  Mr.  Sheridan,  who  by 
the  side  of  Lord  Melbourne  had  watched  the  whole 
incident. 

Then  came  the  sound  of  the  fiddlers  and  the 
atmosphere  became  dense  with  flying  draperies. 
Byron  moved  to  a  chair,  not  being  a  dancer.  He 
was  joined  by  a  number  of  his  friends,  and  a  brisk 
conversational  kottabos  was  set  in  motion,  with  an 
anecdote  introduced  now  and  again  to  make  it 
more  lively,  and  an  occasional  phrase  or  two  whis- 
pered across  the  back  of  a  protecting  hand  and 
followed  by  a  laugh — sometimes  by  a  knowing 
shake  of  the  head,  with  an  expressive  glance. 

But  all  the  time  that  Byron  was  listening  to  and 
participating  in  these  exchanges  with  his  friends, 
he  was  glancing  with  affected  carelessness  to  right 
and  left,  expecting  the  return  of  Lady  Caroline, 
and  wondering  in  what  guise  she  would  reappear 
—whether  in  the  character  of  Diana  of  the  Ephe- 
sians  or  of  her  of  Poitiers.  He  expected  her  re- 
turn, but  the  very  fact  of  his  doing  so  should  have 


236  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

been  enough  to  tell  him  that  she  would  not  return. 
Any  other  woman  would  return,  therefore  Caro- 
line Lamb  would  not. 

He  waited  in  vain.  Perhaps  she  was  dancing  in 
the  quadrille.  He  talked  more  rapidly,  and  in 
trying  to  conceal  his  uneasiness,  revealed  it.  The 
dance  came  to  an  end;  there  was  a  promenade. 
A  score  of  couples  hovered  about  his  seat.  He 
became  impatient.  Lady  Westmoreland  slipped 
up  behind  him.  She  had  her  finger  on  her  lip, 
not  as  a  signal  for  silence,  but  as  a  suggestion  of 
a  coming  confidence. 

"No  one  but  Caroline  Lamb  would  have  had 
the  courage,"  she  whispered.  "She  is  not  a 
woman,  she  is  a  meteor — a  feminine  comet — 
rushing  to  the  sun!" 

"Fortunate  sun!"  murmured  Byron.  "Is  she 
in  perihelion  just  now,  do  you  fancy?" 

"Just  the  contrary.  She  has  run  away,"  said 
her  ladyship.  "  Could  anyone  guess  that  her  in- 
tention was  to  hurry  away  ?  But  she  is  an  enigma. 
You  saw  her  flying  after  she  had  behaved  so 
rudely." 

"Rudeness  may  describe  the  act  of  someone 
who  is  not  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,"  said  he.  "A 
creature  so  fawn-like  should  be  judged  by  the 
laws  of  the  woodland." 

"Yes,  and  then  hunted  for  her  life,"  said  the 
affronted  hostess.  "The  idea  of  her  leaving  us 
in  the  lurch  like  this!  But,  indeed,  for  myself  I 
always  have  a  feeling  of  relief  when  I  have  seen 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  237 

the  last  of  her  for  one  evening.  One  never  knows 
what  she  will  do  next.  I  would  as  soon  entertain 
a  young  panther.  It  was  Mr.  Burke  who  called 
her  Pocahontas." 

"  The  name  was  worthy  of  Mr.  Burke 's  imagina- 
tion; she  is  a  child  of  the  backwoods — la  belle 
sauvage." 

"No  doubt;  but  when  she  heard  of  the  sobri- 
quet nothing  would  do  her  but  she  must  appear 
at  Lady  Oxford's  rout  with  her  face  browned,  and 
her  hair  turned  into  a  pincushion  for  feathers  and 
a  kirtle  of  wampum  so  short  as  to  show  her  leg- 
gings of  deer  skin  and  a  pair  of  moccasins.  She 
was  iiot  easily  got  rid  of.  And  she  has  two  child- 
ren— poor  little  souls!  " 

"I  will  buy  them  a  pair  of  bowie-knifes  and 
tomahawks  to-morrow,"  said  Byron.  "We  shall 
teach  them  how  to  scalp  a  paleface  Tory." 

Lady  Westmoreland  laughed. 

"It  is  very  polite  of  your  lordship  to  take  her 
conduct  in  regard  to  yourself  in  such  good  grace," 
she  said.  "You  really  never  met  her  before?" 
she  added,  with  a  quick  turn  of  her  head  toward 
him. 

"I  never  met  her  before,  indeed,"  he  replied. 
"  By  the  way,  I  should  like  to  have  your  ladyship's 
opinion  as  to  whether  I  may  consider  that  I  have 
met  her  to-night.  The  question  appears  to  me  a 
nice  one.  Perhaps  it  may  not  seem  so  difficult  to 
your  ladyship." 

"I  think  that  its  solution  is  wholly  dependent 


238  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

upon  the  caprice  of  the  lady,"  said  she.  "She 
interprets  her  own  parables." 

"And  I  believe  that  the  Calvinists  believe  that 
the  salvation  of  the  world  hangs  on  the  correct 
interpretation  of  a  parable,"  said  he.  "Your 
ladyship's  dictum  places  me  in  the  unfortunate 
position  of  a  Giaour." 

"And  pray  what  is  a  Giaour,  my  lord?" 

"A  Giaour  is  the  Turkish  word  for  an  unbe- 
liever, and  his  fate  it  is  to  be  lacerated  by  the 
scythe  of  Monkir,  and  then  to  wander  for  ever 
around  the  Sacred  Seat  of  Eblis.  He  belongs 
neither  to  the  Paradise  nor  the  Inferno." 

"And  that  is  exactly  the  position  in  which  you 
would  find  yourself  were  you  intimate  with  Lady 
Caroline.  You  would  never  know  where  you 
stand  with  such  a  creature  of  impulse." 

"I  shall  become  a  Methodist  without  delay. 
They  can  tell  the  exact  moment  when  they  find 
grace." 

"I  shall  be  in  the  supper-room  after  the  next 
dance,"  said  Lady  Westmoreland,  moving  away 
as  the  fiddles  began  to  speak. 

There  was  a  general  movement  in  the  ballroom 
when  the  strains  of  a  waltz  came  from  the  min- 
strels' gallery.  The  whole  room  was  in  motion, 
for  those  of  the  company  who  had  no  mind  to 
dance  thought  it  prudent  to  hasten  towards  the 
doors.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Lord  Holland 
was  making  enquiries  respecting  Lord  Byron  in 
order  to  present  to  him  the  distinguished  Greek 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  239 

Movrocordato ;  but  no  one  seemed  to  know  ex- 
actly where  Lord  Byron  was  to  be  found.  He 
was  not  in  the  ballroom,  nor  was  he  in  any  of  the 
supper-rooms.  Some  time  had  passed  before  Lord 
Westmoreland  came  up  with  the  news  that  Lord 
Byron  had  driven  away  while  the  waltz  was  being 
danced. 

When  he  did  not  reappear  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  laughter  and  some  whispering  among  groups 
of  those  who  had  had  the  privilege  of  being  present 
at  Lady  Holland's  reception  some  nights  before. 

But  when  Lady  Westmoreland  was  made  aware 
of  the  news  she  gave  a  single  laugh  only,  crying, 
"A  pair  of  them!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  the  fooling  of  a  boy  and  a  girl.  Byron 
felt  it  when  he  reached  his  rooms  that  night. 
He  had  only  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he 
had  played  his  part  in  the  jest  as  well  as  she  had 
played  hers — that  if  she  had  been  silly  he  had 
given  a  point  to  her  silliness  which  it  had  pre- 
viously lacked.  Without  laying  their  heads  to- 
gether they  had  contrived  to  play  a  jest  upon 
their  friends  which  would  cause  them  to  be  talked 
about  together  for  some  time  to  come.  He  knew 
that  Lady  Caroline  would  not  mind  this — he  had 
not  become  so  greatly  interested  in  her  as  to  be 
unmindful  of  the  direction  which  had  been  taken 
by  his  first  thought  of  her  after  Moore  had  told 
him  that  she  had  left  Lady  Holland's  reception 
hard  on  his  heels:  she  had  aimed  at  getting  her 
name  associated  with  his. 

Well,  she  had  succeeded,  and  he  had,  he  knew, 
just  contributed  materially  to  her  success.  He 
knew  that  the  moment  he  was  missed  from  the 
ballroom  the  whisper  would  rustle  round  the 
company — it  would  cease  to  be  a  whisper  later  on ; 
in  the  supper-room  it  would  be  shrilled  across  the 
tables  by  the  ladies  to  their  confidants  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  the  men  would  guffaw  it  from  room  to 

240 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  241 

room.  He  heard  Lady  Westmoreland  say,  "A 
pair  of  them! "  as  clearly  as  if  he  had  been  at  her 
ladyship's  elbow. 

It  was  the  fooling  of  a  boy  and  girl ;  and  he  felt 
that  it  was  delightfully  innocent  in  that  it  pointed 
to  guilt. 

He  did  not  care,  and  it  was  certain  that  she  did 
not  care  either,  what  people  might  say  about  them. 
All  his  life  he  had  led  the  world  to  believe  that 
he  was  worse  than  he  actually  was.  His  poem, 
Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  had  this  tendency,  and 
he  had  not  shirked  the  responsibility  which  de- 
volves on  a  man  who  has  a  reputation  for  wicked- 
ness. He  was,  however,  different  from  most  men. 
He  had,  as  it  were,  surrounded  himself  with  a 
halo  of  wickedness,  and  the  crowd  were  ready  to 
worship  him  on  account  of  the  mystery  of  the 
atmosphere  which  he  carried  about  with  him. 
The  element  of  mystery  must  be  associated  with 
every  form  of  worship,  and  the  mystery  of  wicked- 
ness (of  a  sort)  is,  in  the  estimation  of  the  crowd, 
much  more  interesting  than  the  mystery  of  good. 

He  wondered  what  she  would  think  when  she 
would  be  told  that  he  had,  at  Lady  Westmore- 
land's, followed  the  example  which  she  had  shown 
him  at  Lady  Holland's.  He  rather  thought  that 
she  would  be  amused;  that  she  would  recognise 
in  him  someone  who  was  worthy  to  be  her  partner 
in — in  what? 

In  folly.  Fooling  can  never  be  otherwise  than 
folly.  He  did  not  make  any  attempt  to  disguise 

16 


242  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

this  fact  in  considering  the  matter  before  he  slept. 
But  it  was  part  of  his  nature  to  appear  the  devotee 
to  folly  in  his  life  while  writing  poems  that  seemed 
to  come  from  an  atmosphere  of  mysterious  gloom. 
He  liked  the  story  of  the  philosopher  who,  when 
visited  by  an  earnest  disciple,  was  found  vaulting 
over  chairs  with  children  as  his  companions.  He 
liked  the  story  of  the  great  Marlborough  sitting  in 
his  tent  making  out  a  list  of  the  washing,  while 
the  army  was  preparing  to  fight  a  memorable 
battle.  He  asked  for  nothing  better  than  to  have 
his  name  associated  with  that  of  Caroline  Lamb. 
If  she  was  a  will  o'  the  wisp — and  he  had  al- 
ready begun  to  call  her  so  in  his  own  mind — he 
was  a  Robin  Goodfellow.  He  longed  to  meet 
her  again.  He  wondered  what  new  game  she 
would  devise  for  the  fooling  of  their  friends. 
Whatever  it  would  be,  he  felt  that  she  might 
depend  on  his  joining  hands  with  her  in  carry- 
ing it  out. 

It  was  certainly  amusing  that  all  the  time  that 
people  were  coupling  their  names — and  people  did 
so  with  great  pertinacity  for  some  days — the  pair 
had  not  exchanged  a  single  phrase. 

He  paid  a  visit  to  Melbourne  House  in  White- 
hall in  the  course  of  the  week  following  the  West- 
morelands'  ball,  and  found  Rogers  there  and  half 
a  dozen  people  well  known  to  him. 

"  We  have  been  talking  about  you,  Lord  Byron," 
said  Lady  Melbourne.  "Will  you  clear  up  this 
mystery  for  us?  Are  you  quite  unacquainted 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  243 

with  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  or  are  you  her  most 
intimate  friend?" 

"  Is  there  no  intermediate  position? "said Byron. 

"None,  so  far  as  I  can  gather,"  replied  Lady 
Melbourne.  "  I  have  heard  it  affirmed  within  the 
past  week  that  you  had  never  met  her  until  Lady 
Westmoreland  presented  her  to  you,  and  I  have 
also  been  informed  that  you  have  for  some  time 
been  her  most  intimate  counsellor." 

"  Has  her  ladyship  been  acting  with  even  more 
than  her  customary  discretion  that  people  are 
compelled  to  assume  that  I  have  been  her  coun- 
sellor?" said  Byron. 

Lady  Melbourne  shook  her  head. 

"Alas!  she  has  never  been  otherwise  than  in- 
discreet," she  said. 

"And  therefore  you  assume  that  I  may  have 
been  her  counsellor?" 

"  Seriously,  have  you  and  she  been  carrying  out 
some  carnival  prank  together? — I  heard  a  whisper 
of  something  to  that  effect." 

"  Seriously,  dear  Lady  Melbourne,  I  have 
never  exchanged  a  sentence  with  the  lady  in 
question.  But  is  she  not  your  daughter-in-law? 
Why  not  ask  her  directly  all  that  you  wish  to 
learn?" 

Lady  Melbourne  laughed,  but  with  a  note  of 
sorrow  in  her  voice  which  Byron  did  not  fail  to 
detect. 

"  I  am  the  last  person  in  whom  she  would  con- 
fide or  to  whom  she  would  confess,"  she  said. 


244  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  Besides,  I  am  more  than  a  little  afraid  of  her — 
that  is  the  truth,"  she  added  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  believe  that  I  am  the  only  one  in  town  who 
is  not  afraid  of  her,"  said  Byron.  "  I  feel  the  iso- 
lation of  my  position  in  this  respect.  Perhaps  if 
I  should  ever  be  fortunate  enough  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  her " 

"You  may  have  the  opportunity  at  any  mo- 
ment," said  Rogers;  "Lady  Caroline  has  just 
ridden  up;  she  is  in  the  act  of  dismounting." 

"What,"  cried  Byron;  "did  I  boast  just  now 
that  I  was  not  afraid  of  her?  Now,  Heaven  send 
that  we  be  all  alive  this  time  to-morrow!" 

The  drawing-room  door  was  flung  violently  open 
and  Lady  Caroline  stood  on  the  threshold,  a  pic- 
ture of  charming  dishevelment.  Her  hair  had 
come  loose  and  its  little  rings  curled  and  twisted 
and  writhed  like  a  design  worked  in  gold  em- 
broidery upon  the  blue  velvet  collar  of  her  riding 
habit.  Her  face  was  rosy,  and  she  held  up  her 
velvet  skirt  sufficiently  high  to  show  her  tiny 
riding  boots  covered  with  mud.  She  had  a  riding- 
whip  in  her  gauntletted  hand. 

She  had  begun  to  speak  the  moment  that  the 
footman  threw  open  the  door,  but  the  moment 
she  got  sight  of  Byron  she  gulped  down  the  word 
that  she  was  in  the  act  of  uttering,  and  stood  there 
silent — frozen — frightened,  as  it  seemed. 

The  men  in  the  room  bowed  to  the  ground. 
She  paid  no  attention  to  them.  She  continued 
looking  at  Byron. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  245 

"  Enter,  my  dear  Caroline ;  we  will  excuse  your 
toilette  de  chasse"  said  Lady  Melbourne. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Lady  Caroline. 

"Afraid?  Afraid  of  what?"  cried  Lady  Mel- 
bourne. 

"Afraid  of  spoiling  your  beautiful  carpet," 
lisped  the  other.  "  Give  me  time  to  change  my 
boots  and  stockings.  I  will  put  on  a  pair  of  silk 
ones,  if  you  will  wait  for  me.  You  will  wait,  Lord 
Byron?" 

"  The  allurement  which  you  hold  out  is  not  to 
be  resisted,  madam,"  said  Byron. 

"You  promise  not  to  run  away  this  time?"  she 
said,  gravely. 

Byron  had  no  answer  ready,  and  she  knew  it: 
before  he  had  time  to  find  one  she  had  banged  the 
door  and  disappeared. 

"  Did  he  ever  run  away?  I  had  no  idea  that  he 
had  so  much  discretion,"  growled  old  Colonel  Dun- 
combe  of  the  Guards. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  must  take  my  leave.  I 
have  an  engagement  at  three,"  said  Moore. 

"But  that  is  not  for  an  hour  and  a  half,"  said 
Rogers.  "You  must  wait  until  Lady  Caroline 
has  made  her  change  of  toilette." 

"Then  I  shall  certainly  break  my  engagement," 
said  Moore. 

Before  ten  minutes  had  passed  Lady  Caroline 
had  reappeared.  She  was  wearing  a  white  mus- 
lin frock  with  a  flowing  sash.  The  high  waist  of 
the  costume  forced  the  riband  almost  up  to  the 


246  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

hollow  of  her  arms.  She  led  a  child  by  each  of 
her  hands — a  boy  of  five  and  a  girl  of  three.  One 
would  have  guessed  her  age  to  be  eighteen.  She 
was  nine  years  older.  So  great  was  the  change 
made  by  her  act  of  changing,  it  was  difficult  to 
believe  that  she  was  the  same  person  who  had 
appeared  ten  minutes  before  in  all  the  disorder  of 
her  gallop  in  the  Park. 

She  played  to  perfection  the  part  of  the  young 
matron  devoted  to  her  children,  encouraging  their 
prattle  and  participating  in  it  in  a  more  childish 
voice  than  that  which  came  from  either  of  them. 
She  stopped  half-way  across  the  great  drawing- 
room  to  fasten  the  little  boy's  shoe,  kneeling  on 
the  carpet  to  do  so,  and  then  taking  advantage  of 
the  proximity  of  her  head  to  his,  to  put  her  arms 
about  him  and  hug  him.  It  was  a  pretty  picture 
of  innocence  that  Lady  Melbourne's  guests  were 
allowed.  They  were  touched.  In  an  instant  the 
recollection  of  the  many  silly  and  absurd  things 
that  she  had  done  during  the  previous  year  or  two 
was  swept  away — nay,  some  of  them  allowed  the 
act  to  be  prospective  as  well  as  retrospective  in 
its  force;  it  swept  out  of  their  minds  the  foolish 
things  which  she  was  still  to  do. 

"These  are  my  protectors,"  said  Lady  Caroline, 
laying  a  hand  on  each  golden  head  and  then  look- 
ing up  ecstatically.  "Unless  I  were  flanked  on 
every  side  by  innocence,  how  should  I  be  able  to 
face  all  the  wickedness  which — which  visits  my 
mamma?" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  247 

She  looked  round  the  semicircle  with  Rogers 
at  one  end  and  Byron  at  the  other,  and  then 
turned  her  eyes  innocently  upon  Lady  Mel- 
bourne. 

"Wickedness  resorts  to  Melbourne  House  just 
as  gout  goes  to  Harrogate,"  said  Moore. 

"And  usually  with  better  results,"  said  Rogers, 
mildly. 

"Virtue  and  innocence  are  to  some  palates  as 
nauseous  as  a  sulphur  spa,"  said  Lady  Caroline. 
She  was  looking  gravely  at  Byron. 

"Did  your  ladyship  address  me?"  he  enquired. 

"Certainly  not;  I  am  well  aware  that  your 
lordship  has  had  no  time  to  analyse  the  bene- 
ficent elements  which  I  named,"  she  replied. 

"True,  madam,"  he  said.  "But  that  is  be- 
cause I  have  had  so  few  chances  of  coming  in 
contact  with  them  in  my  walk  through  life." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  a  frequent  visitor  at 
Melbourne  House,  my  lord,"  said  she. 

" That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  said  he.  "  Do  you 
suggest  that  I  bring  with  me  test  glasses  and  an 
apothecary's  balance?" 

"  I  wish  to  have  a  serious  talk  with  you,  Lord 
Byron,"  said  she,  taking  a  step  toward  a  seat  in 
the  window. 

"With  your  protectors?"  he  asked,  glancing 
round.  She  had  relinquished  her  children  to  Lady 
Melbourne  and  Moore.  Her  last  three  remarks 
had  been  addressed  to  Byron  only. 

"  Mr.  Moore  is  going  to  sing  for  them,"  she  said. 


248  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  We  can  talk  seriously  while  he  is  singing.  I  hope 
that  he  will  not  compel  my  tears." 

"What  would  it  matter?  Everyone  would 
fancy  that  you  were  weeping  with  the  seriousness 
of  our  conversation.  By  the  way,  this  is  our  first 
conversation,  is  it  not?" 

"I  seem  to  have  known  you  for  a  long  time," 
said  she.  "  My  soul — do  you  believe  in  the  com- 
munion of  souls,  Lord  Byron?" 

"My  creed  is  made  up  of  one  clause  only  and 
that  is  it,"  he  replied. 

"  And  yet  you  ran  away  from  me  at  Lady  Hol- 
land's," said  she,  with  a  pout  of  reproach. 

"  I  saw  from  the  beach  when  the  morning  was  shining 
A  bark  o'er  the  waters  rode  gloriously  on," 

came  the  exquisite  voice  of  Moore  from  the  piano 
at  which  Lady  Melbourne  was  sitting.  The  two 
children  were  standing  at  a  little  distance,  look- 
ing with  large  eyes  of  wonder  at  the  sentimental 
expression  at  which  the  little  Irishman  aimed 
when  singing  his  melodies,  but  which  he  never 
quite  achieved  owing  to  the  unhappy  tilt  of  his 
nose. 

"  Did  I  not  do  well  to  run  away  ? "  asked  Byron, 
playing  at  seriousness  as  seriously  as  she.  "  You 
must  remember  that  you  laughed.  I  have  often 
wondered  why  you  laughed." 

She  became  more  serious  than  ever — sadly  seri- 
ous this  time,  while  she  said, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  249 

"I  have  wondered,  too.  It  would  have  been 
much  better  for  me  if  I  had  wept." 

"Do  women  weep  because  men  are  fools?"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  the  pathos  of  Mr. 
Moore's  song  was  not  interfered  with.  "No,  I 
rather  think  that  women — and  the  devil  laugh 
together." 

"  Had  you  been  a  fool  before  you  came  upon  me 
at  the  side  of  that  screen?" 

"  I  think  that  I  was  a  fool  until  I  saw  you." 

"And  after?" 

"  God  knows  what  after." 

"Ah!  God  and — the  one  who  laughs  with  men 
at  women." 

"  But  we  were  talking  of  a  woman  laughing. 
That  drove  me  away." 

"  What  did  that  mean — foolishness  or  wisdom?  " 

"It  meant  discretion.  Do  you  include  that 
under  the  head  of  wisdom  or  of  foolishness? " 

"  The  woman  who  confesses  to  a  man  is  not  dis- 
creet. But  I  will  confess  to  you,  throwing  discre- 
tion to  the  winds." 

"As  usual." 

"You  have  been  listening  to  tales.  But 
if  you  were  wise  enough  to  run  away  the  first 
time,  I  was  wise  enough  to  do  so  the  second 
time." 

"And  yet  here  we  are  together  now." 

"That  is  an  interruption.  I  am  confessing. 
Do  you  know  why  I  ran  away  ?  I  wished  to  make 
an  entry  in  my  diary.  I  hastened  home  for  this 


250  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

purpose  and  I  wrote  about  you,  'Byron  is  mad, 
bad,  and  dangerous  to  know." 

"It  is  you  who  have  been  listening  to  tales. 
But  I  acknowledge  the  accuracy  of  the  words.  I 
know  that  I  have  been  mad  for — what  was  the 
day  of  Lady  Holland's  reception? — 'bad'? — well, 
I  am  a  man ;  '  dangerous '  ? — again,  I  am  a  man. 
Shall  I  go  away  ?  There  can  be  no  danger  if  I  go 
away  at  once." 

"  It  is  too  late.  I  have  read  Childe  Harold.  I 
believe  that  I  was  the  first  woman  in  the  world 
to  read  it.  Mr.  Rogers  lent  me  his  copy  long 
before  the  poem  was  published.  Do  not  blame 
him.  I  insisted  on  getting  it.  I  was  the  first 
woman  in  the  world  to  read  it.  Think  of  that! 
Whatever  may  happen — whatever  the  future  may 
have  in  store  for  me, — no  power  in  existence  can 
alter  that :  I  was  the  first  woman  in  the  world  to 
read  Childe  Harold." 

"  If  I  had  known  that  you  lived  in  the  world  I 
would  never  have  written  it." 

She  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes  and  shud- 
dered. She  did  not  speak.  She  was  wise  enough  to 
refrain  from  the  attempt  to  interpret  her  shudder. 

"  But  I  did  not  know  it,  and  I  show  my  ignor- 
ance of  your  existence  in  every  line,"  said  the  poet. 

Her  hands  fell  from  her  face,  she  turned  her  eyes 
upon  him,  brilliant  with  feeling  at  first,  and  then 
gradually  lapsing  into  languor — half-closed— 
smouldering — alluring — the  eyes  that  a  single 
whisper  will  close. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  251 

"You  will  write  another  poem  to  tell  me  in 
every  line  that  you  know  me — my  heart— my 
soul? "  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  twilight — sudden  and 
soft — a  dreamy  pause  between  each  of  its  latter 
words. 

"I  cannot  say  what  I  will  write,"  said  he,  be- 
coming curiously  reserved,  both  in  voice  and  man- 
ner, as  was  his  wont  at  times.  "  My  writing  is  not 
in  my  own  hands.  Would  I  not  best  show  that 
I  have  been  by  your  side,  by  refraining  from  ever 
writing  again?" 

"  No,  no ;  do  not  say  that.  If  I  thought  it  pos- 
sible that  I  should  have  such  an  influence  upon 
you  I  would  curse  the  hour  that  I  came  across 
your  path,"  she  cried,  grasping  his  hand  that  lay 
upon  the  embroidery  of  the  cushion  upon  which 
he  was  leaning.  "No,  no;  I  should  never  for- 
give myself — never — never.  I  wish  you  to  come 
to  me  to  learn  all  about  woman — of  what  she  is 
capable  when  she  loves — of  what  sacrifices — of 
what  devotion.  You  will  come  to  me?" 

"  I  have  come  to  you,"  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone 
than  all  the  low  tones  in  which  he  had  yet  spoken. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  without  moving  her 
head,  and  after  allowing  him  to  look  into  her 
depths  of  blueness,  turned  them  quickly  down  to 
her  demurely  folded  hands  upon  her  lap.  Her 
dark  lashes  fell  half-way  down  her  cheeks. 

Mr.  Moore  was  singing  a  patriotic  song  to  the 
children — they  were  becoming  a  little  tired  of  his 
singing.  The  boy  was  lying  on  his  back  on  the 


252  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

hearth  rug,  kicking  up  his  legs ;  the  girl  was  tast- 
ing the  succulent  qualities  of  Mr.  Rogers 's  watch. 
Mr.  Moore,  in  the  attitude  of  the  patriot — one 
hand  thrust  into  the  bosom  of  his  coat,  the  other 
clenched  by  his  side, — was  singing  with  passion : 

"Where's  the  slave  so  lowly, 

Condemned  to  chains  unholy, 
Who,  could  he  burst  his  bonds  at  first, 
Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly?" 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE  had  begun  by  fooling  and  before  he  ended 
he  had  gained  wisdom;  and  the  only  way 
by  which  a  man  can  acquire  wisdom  is  by  making 
a  fool  of  himself. 

That  is  what  everyone  said  he  was  doing ;  only 
they  put  it  in  another  way ;  they  said  that  he  was 
being  made  a  fool  of  by  Lady  Caroline  Lamb. 
Whether  wisdom  comes  more  rapidly  to  a  man 
who  is  made  a  fool  of  than  to  a  man  who  makes  a 
fool  of  himself  cannot  be  decided  except  by  the 
consideration  of  many  cases  where  the  contribu- 
tory forces  of  folly — making  for  wisdom  in  the 
end — are  duly  authenticated. 

It  was  his  nature  to  be  attracted  to  the  unusual. 
He  detested  everything  that  was  normal — every- 
thing that  was  safe.  He  was  against  the  govern- 
ment— from  the  government  of  the  universe  down 
to  the  government  of  the  university.  That  was 
why  they  were  glad  to  see  the  last  of  him  and  his 
bears  and  bull-dogs  at  Cambridge.  He  railed 
against  all  authority,  including  that  which  made 
him  an  author. 

He  had  no  illusions  in  regard  to  Lady  Caroline 
Lamb.  Whatever  she  was  no  one  could  deny 
that  she  was  unusual.  It  was  because  she  was 

253 


254  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

reported  never  to  have  done  anything  like  other 
people — she  had  even  refused  to  be  married  like 
other  women — that  Byron  was  attracted  to  her. 
Most  women,  no  matter  how  greatly  they  may 
long  to  become  the  exponents  of  the  uncommon, 
make  it  a  point  to  be  scrupulously  commonplace 
in  the  matter  of  marriage,  but  this  beautiful  rebel 
was  so  consistent  in  her  aspirations  as  to  make 
the  ceremony  of  her  marriage  the  most  uncere- 
monious ever  recorded,  although  a  bishop  stood 
at  the  altar  rails. 

She  was  worth  all  the  insipid  young  women  in 
town,  Byron  perceived,  the  moment  that  he  heard 
how  she  had  left  Lady  Holland's  reception  when 
she  knew  that  he  had  gone  away ;  and  he  had  been 
quite  content  to  set  his  friends  and  hers  chattering 
when  he  had  followed  her  example  at  the  West- 
morelands'  a  few  days  later.  There  was  nothing 
insipid  about  her — even  her  lisp  and  her  lapse 
into  sentiment  at  Melbourne  House  had  impressed 
him  as  being  a  fine  sort  of  satire  upon  current  in- 
sipidity. She  interested  him  greatly,  and  he 
found  himself  thinking  all  the  day.  He  had  met 
nothing  like  her  in  his  life,  and  he  was  glad  that 
he  had  promised  to  breakfast  with  her  the  next 
morning.  She  was  a  wife  and  a  mother.  So  she 
was  safeguarded — so  he  was  safeguarded. 

That  was  how  he  thought — yes,  at  times.  But 
the  very  fact  of  his  thinking  of  safeguards  sug- 
gested the  risk  which  made  safeguards,  if  not 
necessary,  at  least — well,  safeguards.  That  was 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  255 

what  made  his  intimacy  with  her  adventurous,  and 
to  him  whatever  was  adventurous  was  fascinating. 

He  went  to  breakfast  with  her.  Her  children 
were  present,  and  again  she  called  them  her  pro- 
tectors. That  told  him  that  she  also  had  been 
thinking  of  safeguards,  and  incidentally  of  risks. 
But  he  found  himself  in  a  more  delightful  situa- 
tion than  any  he  had  ever  occupied.  It  was  so 
charmingly  domestic.  He  took  the  greatest  de- 
light in  the  children,  and  they  responded  and  were 
never  tiresome,  only  because  he  was  untiring  in 
amusing  them.  And  soon  he  found  himself  talk- 
ing to  her  just  as  he  talked  to  them.  When  he 
began  it,  by  accident,  she  laughed. 

"Why  should  you  change  your  language;  I 
feel  that  these  dear  things  are  really  older  than  I 
am,"  she  cried.  "They  ask  you  questions  which 
I  am  not  wise  enough  to  ask." 

"You  are  wise  enough  to  refrain  from  asking 
them,"  said  he.  "Real  wisdom  is  to  be  found  in 
not  seeking  to  learn  too  much." 

"Then  I  am  a  fool,  for  I  want  to  know  every- 
thing," she  said. 

"  That  was  the  mistake  that  Mother  Eve  made, 
and  we  are  all  suffering  for  it  to-day,"  said  he. 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  said.  "No  one  will  per- 
suade me  that  marriage  was  instituted  until  the 
expulsion  from  Eden." 

"That  is  not  orthodoxy,"  said  he,  "and  I  will 
not  be  a  party  to  anything  that  is  not  orthodox 
in  the  presence  of  the  children." 


256  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  Then  I  shall  send  them  away  while  I  tell  you 
why  I  believe  that  marriage  was  a  part  of  the 
curse,"  she  said  pathetically. 

"  They  shall  remain  if  only  to  prove  to  me  that 
it  was  part  of  the  general  blessing  and  not  of  the 
general  curse,"  said  he.  "I  will  not  have  the 
vagaries  of  a  will  o'  the  wisp  inculcated  upon 
them." 

"I  like  to  hear  you  call  me  Will  o'  the  Wisp," 
she  said.  "  What  name  shall  I  call  you,  Byron — 
you  see,  I  have  called  you  Byron ;  I  hate  to  think 
of  you  as  '  my  lord. '  I  think  of  you  as  my  brother 
— no,  my  sister,  rather,  my  elder  sister  who  knows 
so  many  things  that  I  do  not  know  and  who  sym- 
pathises with  my  ignorance,  but  refuses  to  en- 
lighten it.  What  shall  I  call  you,  Byron?" 

"Call  me  your  child,"  he  said.  "You  cannot 
give  me  a  name  that  I  honour  more  highly." 

"  I  will  call  you  my  Childe — my  Childe  Harold," 
she  said.  "You  know  I  have  somehow  come  to 
think  of  Childe  Harold  as  my  own." 

"He  is,"  said  Byron,  with  his  hand  on  the 
golden  head  of  the  little  boy,  who  was  sitting  on 
his  stool  looking  with  all  a  child's  deep  seriousness 
to  each  of  his  elders  in  turn  as  they  spoke,  trying 
to  make  sense  out  of  what  they  said,  and  being 
puzzled. 

"It,  we  are  talking  of  it,  not  he,"  she  said. 
"  Funny,  is  it  not,  that  the  poem  has  a  soul  and 
is  immortal,  though  the  author  is  not — according 
to  the  author." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  257 

"  I  would  not  advise  you  to  believe  in  that  au- 
thor," said  Byron. 

She  jumped  up  in  a  passion  —  the  children 
had  seen  her  in  that  way  before:  they  did  not 
mind. 

"In  whom,  then,  am  I  to  believe?"  she  cried. 
"  Tell  me  that,  you  who  have  given  to  me  a  poem 
that  has  changed  all  my  life."  She  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  beside  him — he  was  sitting  on  a  low 
stool  on  a  level  with  the  children.  "  Byron,"  she 
said,  tenderly,  "  you  do  not  know  what  your  poem 
is  to  me;  and  I  thought  that  I  was  approaching 
you  through  it.  Do  not  bid  me  now  go  in  search 
of  another  Byron.  I  cannot  do  it — I  swear  to  you 
that  I  cannot  do  it.  I  have  found  you.  I  must 
believe  in  you.  You  cannot  be  so  inhuman  as  to 
cast  me  out  from  your  presence  believing  in  no 
one — believing  in  nothing." 

He  could  not  doubt  that  she  spoke  under  the 
impulse  of  a  very  strong  feeling.  She  was  un- 
doubtedly an  emotional  creature — a  poet  of  a 
kind — passionate,  undisciplined.  He  was  touched 
by  her  appeal  to  him,  and  for  the  first  time  he  had 
a  sense  of  some  responsibility.  He  had  written  a 
poem  the  tendency  of  which  was  to  inculcate 
doubt.  He  had  displaced  that  faith  which  meant 
tranquillity  of  mind,  and  he  was  responsible  for 
the  disorder  which  had  followed. 

He  was  touched  by  the  passionate  appeal  which 
she  made  to  him,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  mo- 
ment's remorse.  He  felt  that  he  had  done  her  an 


258  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

injustice  in  speaking  lightly.  He  had  had  no 
notion  that  she  could  be  so  serious. 

"I  am  not  a  fitting  guide  for  such  as  you,"  he 
said.  "  I  never  set  myself  out  to  be  a  guide." 

"But  you  are  mine,"  she  cried.  "You  have 
made  yourself  my  guide,  whether  to  happiness  or  to 
misery — I  do  not  care  which.  My  soul  is  in  your 
keeping.  I  am  the  daughter  of  your  genius.  It 
is  too  late  now  for  you  to  think  of  disowning  me." 

"It  is  the  last  thing  that  I  should  think  of," 
said  he.  "  But  the  truth  is  that  I  feel  that  I  have 
no  right — who  am  I  that  I  should  venture  to  talk 
of  owning  or  disowning?" 

"A  great  poet  is  one  who  greatly  ventures," 
she  said.  "I  tell  you,  my  dear  Childe  Harold, 
that  I  have  drawn  very  near  to  you  in  reading 
your  poem,  and  now  I  feel  that  my  life  is  in  your 
keeping — the  influence  of  your  presence  near  me 
is  the  most  potent  that  I  ever  knew;  and  I  feel 
that  you,  too,  can  gain  something  that  may  be 
of  value  to  you  some  time,  by  being  near  me. 
Byron,  it  was  written  in  the  book  of  fate  that  we 
were  to  come  together.  What  you  think,  that  I 
think.  I  am  a  woman  and  you  are  a  man,  and 
there  never  was  a  man  in  the  world  who  would 
not  at  some  time  have  given  all  the  world  to  have 
a  woman  near  him.  Swear  to  me  that  when  you 
need  me  you  will  not  refrain  from  bidding  me 
come  to  your  side.  I  will  come,  Byron;  you 
know  that  I  will  come — you  know  that  nothing 
will  hold  me  back — nothing  that  other  women 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  259 

hold  dear — husband,  children,  my  good  name. 
You  will  be  my  friend.  I  ask  you  now  if  you  will 
be  my  friend." 

"You  may  trust  me,"  he  said.  "I  think  that 
I  am  beginning  to  understand  what  't  is  to  be  a 
woman." 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  took  it  and 
pressed  it  to  her  side.  He  saw  that  tears  were  in 
her  eyes. 

In  another  instant  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet. 

"  Will  o'  the  Wisp— Will  o'  the  Wisp— that  is 
what  you  called  me,  and  that  is  what  't  is  to  be  a 
woman,"  she  cried,  dancing  down  the  room  wav- 
ing the  ends  of  the  long  sash  that  she  wore;  it 
was  of  golden  yellow  riband,  and  the  ends  of  it 
fluttered  around  her  like  flame.  "  I  am  Will  o' 
the  Wisp — follow  me,  follow  me,  follow  me." 

This  was  something  that  the  children  could 
understand — this  whirling  dance  with  flying  ri- 
bands and  waving  hands;  there  was  something 
intelligible  in  all  this;  very  different  from  that 
strange,  low- voiced  conversation  with  an  occa- 
sional clasping  of  the  hands,  and  then  that  tear- 
ful tirade  of  reproach  which  had  puzzled  them. 
They  were  on  their  feet  in  a  moment,  flying  down 
the  room  after  her,  shrilling  her  cry,  "Will  o' 
the  Wisp — Will  o'  the  Wisp,"  and  trying  to  catch 
an  end  of  the  primrose-flamed  sash  that  she  held 
almost  as  high  as  her  shoulders,  shivering  like  the 
pennon  of  a  white-sailed  sloop  in  the  wind  made 
by  her  flight. 


260  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Byron  watched  this  charming  child's  play  from 
where  he  sat  on  the  floor;  and  then,  after  some 
graceful  flittering  between  chairs  and  round  tables, 
she  fluttered  up  to  him,  waving  the  riband  in  his 
face  and  then,  allowing  it  to  encircle  his  neck, 
tripping  round  him  and  leaning  very  close  to  him 
for  the  purpose,  she  contrived  to  include  him  in 
the  game,  much  to  the  delight  of  the  children. 
Of  course,  it  was  inevitable  that  he  should  have 
his  hands  on  her  waist — that  his  arm  should  be 
about  her  in  his  attempts  to  disentangle  himself— 
that  was  a  natural  part  of  the  game,  and  no  more 
to  be  avoided  than  the  clasping  of  a  partner  at  the 
proper  moment  in  the  minuet. 

But  it  set  the  man's  blood  in  motion  and  red- 
dened his  pale  face. 

It  was  capital  exercise,  though  it  did  not  make 
him  laugh  quite  as  heartily  as  it  did  the  children. 
They  thought  for  a  moment  that  he  was  dis- 
pleased, and  they  paused. 

"Mama,  mama,  Byr'n's  huffed — look  at  his 
face — he's  ready  to  kvy,"  said  the  little  boy. 
"  Don't  kvy,  Byr'n,  't  is  all  play ;  mama  won't 
hurt  'oo.  Oh,  mama,  give  him  a  kiss  before  he 
gets  cross." 

She  fell  down  on  her  knees  laughing — breath- 
less from  her  rushing  about. 

"  It  is  part  of  the  play,"  said  Byron,  putting  his 
arm  about  her  and  kissing  her  twice — three  times. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  resist — she  only 
laughed  in  the  delightfully  innocent  way  of  a 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  261 

child  at  play.  That  was  how  she  contrived  that 
the  kiss  should  be  brought  into  the  game,  as  if 
it  were  no  more  than  the  formal  clasp  in  the  sur- 
render figure  in  the  minuet. 

Byron  laughed,  too,  after  a  breathless  moment, 
and  the  children  clapped  their  hands.  The  boy 
was  exuberant  with  the  delight  of  seeing  the 
realisation  of  his  prediction. 

"  He  is  dood  now,  quite  dood — so  such  a  dood 
boy;  he  is  no  more  koss — no  more  huffed,"  he 
cried. 

They  wanted  their  mother  to  resume  the  game 
of  Will-o'-the-Wisp  after  the  interlude,  but  she 
shook  her  head. 

"That  is  the  end  of  the  game,  my  darlings," 
she  said. 

"Every  game  ends  mid  a  kiss,  I  s'pose,"  said 
the  boy,  pouting,  when  she  refused  to  yield  to  his 
entreaties. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "that  is  the  end  of  every 
comedy  in  life." 

"And  everything  after  that  is  tragedy,"  said 
Byron. 

It  had  all  been  quite  delightful,  Byron  reflected 
when  he  found  himself  alone  that  night — he  had 
been  dining  with  the  Jerseys,  but  it  was  not  of 
that  entertainment,  but  of  the  one  which  had 
taken  place  earlier  in  the  day,  that  he  was  think- 
ing. It  had  all  been  quite  delightful — so  delight- 
ful that  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not 


262  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

pay  another  visit  to  Melbourne  House  for  a  long 
time — perhaps  for  ever.  She  seemed  to  him  the 
most  fascinating — the  most  tempting  creature 
that  he  had  ever  met. 

But  what  was  she?  How  was  such  a  thing  to 
be  defined?  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she 
was  not  susceptible  of  definition.  She  was  an 
April  day.  Who  could  define  an  April  day? 
Flashes  of  sunshine  sweeping  across  meadows  of 
wild  flowers,  followed  by  a  whirling  shower,  but 
the  shower  only  served  to  brighten  the  pink  and 
blue  and  saffron  enamels  that  were  set  in  the 
emerald  of  the  field;  and  then  a  sudden  gloom, 
that  makes  mute  the  melodies  of  the  hedgerow; 
but  out  of  the  gloom  came  a  flash  of  lightning — 
dazzling;  and  then  the  suggestion  of  a  rainbow 
— the  arch  of  one  of  the  bridges  that  span  the  tu- 
multuous torrent  that  is  called  Eternity.  Who 
could  define  the  revelation  of  God  to  the  sons  of 
men  in  an  April  day? 

Or  a  sonata — the  first  movement  dainty,  ca- 
pricious, with  here  and  there  a  passage  of  infinite 
tenderness  and  feeling;  a  second  movement  hav- 
ing for  its  theme  a  mingling  of  passions — sugges- 
tions of  vague,  unexplored  depths  of  thought — 
longings — dreamings — a  whisper  of  hope.  A 
third  movement  of  butterfly  joyousness — the 
dance  of  fireflies — the  flying  feet  of  fairies  on  a 
night  that  is  flooded  with  starlight,  and  every 
star  singing  its  song  into  the  listening  ear  of 
night. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  263 

Oh,  this  poet  had  no  trouble  in  finding  images 
of  her  at  that  hour.  His  imagination  ran  riot 
when  he  thought  of  this  woman  who  was  so 
strange  a  mingling  of  stimulating  elements.  He 
thought  of  her  as  being  everything  save  only  a 
woman.  It  was  only  when  he  had  imagined  her 
as  being  everything  else  that  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  she  was  a  woman;  and  it  was  when 
he  thought  of  her  as  being  a  woman  that  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  keep  away  from  her. 

He  would  never  see  her  again.  He  felt  that  it 
would  be  madness  to  see  her  again.  Of  course  it 
would  give  him  a  pang ;  it  would  be  an  agony  to 
sever  from  his  life  this  sweet  flowering  thing  that 
had  wound  its  tender  tendrils  about  his  life,  but 
— the  image  that  was  in  his  mind  was  of  a  white, 
clinging  convolvulus  about  a  pillar — the  severance 
must  take  place  before  the  tendrils  found  that 
they  were  grasping  marble  and  the  flowers  had 
begun  to  wither.  Even  though  he  would  have  to 
go  back  to  his  wanderings  to  effect  his  purpose, 
he  would  save  her  from  being  blighted  by  associa- 
tion with  him. 

He  was  very  resolute  on  this  point,  and  he  went 
to  bed  feeling  stronger  for  his  resolution. 

He  went  to  her  the  next  day. 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  come,"  she  cried.  She 
was  alone,  and  the  poet  thought  how  aptly  he  had 
thought  of  her  as  a  convolvulus.  She  wore  an- 
other frock  of  white  muslin,  soft  and  clinging, 
with  a  delicate  perfume  of  early  summer  hovering 


264  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

about  her — sometimes  close  to  her,  sometimes  at 
a  distance.  "I  knew  that  you  would  come,  my 
Childe  Harold,  and  now  I  see  you — at  last — at 
last." 

"How  did  you  know?  I  did  not  know  that  I 
should  come.  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  come," 
said  he. 

"What!  But  you  promised.  I  had  not  a  mo- 
ment's doubt.  I  told  you  how  it  was  with  me. 
You  could  not  have  been  so  cruel  as  to  stay  away." 

"Cruel  only  to  be  kind.  Alas!  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  stay  away." 

"You  were  not  weak  enough,  you  mean.  It 
would  have  shown  an  unworthy  weakness  if  you 
had  not  come.  How  would  I  have  taken  it?  I 
tell  you  that  I  would  have  taken  it  as  a  grave 
affront,  and  I  should  have  been  right,  too,  for 
would  you  not  have  suggested  thereby  that  I  was 
weak?  You  would  have  been  mistaken — you  are 
mistaken  if  you  do  not  think  of  me  as  being  strong. 
You  have  yet  to  know  me,  Byron.  You  have  yet 
to  learn  that  I  am  not  as  other  women.  Vanity? 
I  have  not  the  vanity  that  carries  on  so  many 
women  to  their  doom.  I  detest  flattery — that  is 
not  like  other  women,  is  it?  I  like  you  to  be  near 
me  because  you  are  unlike  other  men.  You  have 
never  flattered  me,  and  you  do  not  look  to  me 
for  that  flattery  which  every  other  woman  has 
flung  at  you.  I  have  seen  them  fling  their  flat 
tery  in  your  face — you  were  bespattered  by  it; 
but  I  knew  that  you  would  wash  off  its  marks 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  265 

with  a  single  dip  of  your  sponge.  Did  you  expect 
flattery?  Did  you  get  flattery ?" 

"Mad,  bad,  and  dangerous  to  know — truth, 
my  Will  o'  the  Wisp,"  said  he. 

"  That  was  not  flattery,  at  any  rate,  and  I  wrote 
it,  and  told  you  that  I  wrote  it,"  she  cried.  "I 
take  back  no  word.  You  were  all  that  I  wrote 
when  I  wrote  it;  but  I  have  changed  you,  and 
you  know  it.  Are  you  the  same  as  you  were  ten 
days  ago,  Byron — tell  me  that?" 

"I  don't  think  that  I  am  quite  the  same,"  he 
replied,  after  a  pause.  He  found  himself  unable 
to  answer  her  at  once.  Her  question  had  startled 
him.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  changed  since 
that  night  when  he  had  first  seen  her? 

"  My  poor  boy,"  she  said,  laying  both  her  hands 
upon  one  of  his,  "I  know  what  your  life  has  been. 
'Mad — bad,'  does  not  that  describe  it?  You 
knew  nothing  of  what  it  was  to  have  a  home.  The 
place  which  you  inherited  was  just  the  opposite 
to  what  a  home  should  be.  Since  you  became  a 
man  you  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  have  a 
woman  for  your  friend.  I  have  begun  to  teach 
you  that,  and  yet,  when  you  have  had  a  single 
glimpse  of  the  delight  of  such  a  friendship  in  the 
centre  of  a  home  that  meant  to  have  upon  you 
the  sweet  influence  that  you  have  missed  all  your 
life,  you  tell  me  that  you  are  sorry  you  have 
come  hither  to-day.  Well,  if  you  are  sorry — if 
you  are  wilful  enough  to  desire  to  go  back  to 
your  old  lonely  life,  among  the  flatterers  whom 


266  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

you  despise,  the  women  who  look  on  you — and 
you  know  it — only  as  the  lion  of  the  hour  whose 
presence  at  their  routs  they  use  as  a  bait  to  at- 
tract shoals  of  silly  fish — if  you  prefer  all  this  to 
— to  what  I  can  offer  you,  then  go!" 

She  had  risen  from  her  seat  with  a  fine  expres- 
sion of  scorn  on  her  face,  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

He  caught  her  other  hand,  and,  throwing  him- 
self on  his  knees  beside  her,  covered  it  with  kisses. 

She  looked  down  at  him.  The  mask  of  scorn 
had  slipped  from  her  face,  and  it  now  wore  a  look 
of  exquisite  tenderness.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his 
head  and  smoothed  it  for  some  moments;  then 
she  gently  put  back  the  curls  from  his  forehead 
and,  stooping  down,  kissed  him  there,  not  pas- 
sionately, but  with  all  the  gentleness  of  a  sister. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EVERYONE  in  the  town  except  the  young 
woman's  husband  seemed  to  have  some- 
thing to  say  regarding  the  poet's  attachment  to 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  the  wife  of  the  Honourable 
William  Lamb,  son  of  Lord  Melbourne,  and  mem- 
ber of  Parliament  for  Westminster.  In  a  week 
or  two  it  was  the  subject  of  gossip,  then  it  was 
regarded  as  a  scandal,  and  then  it  entered  into 
the  regions  of  romance  and  was  accepted  as  an 
incident  affecting  only  the  poet  and  the  lady,  and 
perhaps,  in  a  distant  and  immaterial  way,  the 
lady's  husband. 

Byron  was  seen  with  her  every  day.  The  lady, 
after  a  week  or  two,  seemed  to  think  more  of  being 
seen  with  him  than  of  being  with  him.  She  made 
people  understand  with  practical  clearness  that  if 
they  were  anxious  to  add  to  the  interest  of  their 
social  functions  by  the  presence  of  the  author  of 
Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage  they  should  invite 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb  as  well.  Some  of  them  had 
a  distinct  objection  to  the  lady,  not  that  they 
believed  any  of  the  whispers  which  had  rustled 
round  society  respecting  her — the  very  breath 
that  comes  from  a  whisper  is  sometimes  enough 
to  cause  a  film  to  overspread  the  silver  surface  of 

267 


268  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

a  woman's  reputation — but  simply  because  Lady 
Caroline  was  too  uncertain  in  her  ways  to  be 
altogether  a  pleasant  guest.  It  was  her  temper 
rather  than  her  temperament  that  made  people 
uneasy  until  they  had  seen  her  safe  in  her  carriage 
again  after  an  entertainment. 

She  soon  let  it  be  understood  that  she  was 
aware  of  the  fact  that  her  social  value  had  in- 
creased by  the  attachment  of  friendship  which 
had  come  into  existence  between  the  great  poet 
and  herself.  And  it  was  undoubtedly  a  fact.  She 
answered  his  invitations  for  him.  And  it  soon 
became  known  that  she  had  improved  his  man- 
ners. He  had  been  accustomed  to  neglect  the 
punctilio  of  society,  accepting  invitations  and  not 
acting  up  to  his  acceptances,  or  arriving  an  hour 
or  two  late  for  a  dinner  which  he  had  promised  to 
attend.  But  quickly  all  this  was  changed.  Peo- 
ple said  that  if  Lady  Caroline  had  been  his  own 
wife  she  could  not  have  amended  his  manners  more 
effectively  than  she  did;  and  this  was  probably 
true.  She  took  care  that  he  came  to  the  places 
where  he  was  due  and  that  he  came  in  proper 
time,  for  she  brought  him  with  herself.  Hostesses 
praised  her,  and  so  did  their  other  guests,  who  in 
the  old  days  had  been  forced  to  eat  cold  soup  and 
cremated  chickens  owing  to  the  thoughtlessness 
of  the  dilatory  Lord  Byron. 

Soon  the  discovery  was  made  that  the  poet  and 
the  lady  made  a  most  picturesque  pair,  and  the 
picture  possessed  the  merit  of  traditional  accur- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  269 

acy,  so  to  speak.  The  fact  was  recalled  by  the 
more  erudite  of  their  acquaintances  that  the 
friendship  of  a  poet  for  a  lady  who  was  not  his 
wife  constituted  a  biographical  incident  that 
could  not  be  overlooked  in  any  memoir  of  the 
former ;  and  they  affirmed  that  of  this  fact  no  one 
was  more  fully  aware  than  Lady  Caroline  Lamb. 

"Laura,"  whispered  Madame  de  Stael  to  Lord 
Holland,  as  Lady  Caroline  passed  them  by  with 
a  smile,  with  Byron  on  her  arm  one  evening  at 
Lady  Jersey's.  "Laura!  She  is  playing  Laura 
to  his  Petrarch — and  so  she  is — a  copy  of  Laura 
done  by  a  schoolgirl  with  a  pencil  on  a  slate." 

Lord  Holland  laughed. 

"I  wonder  who  will  come  with  the  sponge  to 
wipe  her  out,"  said  he. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Madame.  "English  so- 
ciety contains  plenty  of  sponges,  and  a  slate 
pencil  does  not  bite  so  deep  as  Mr.  Finden's 
graver." 

"Beatrice!  she  is  playing  the  part  of  Beatrice 
to  Byron's  Dante,"  was  the  comment  of  another 
sapient  observer — this  time  it  was  the  beautiful 
Lady  Oxford,  who  it  was  known  had  ambitions 
herself  in  the  direction  of  the  poet,  whom  she 
approached  through  the  agency  of  her  child,  the 
lovely  lolanthe. 

"A  Beatrice — a  Beatrice  cut  out  of  tissue- 
paper  with  a  blunt  scissors,"  asserted  her  con- 
fidante. 

The  erudition  of  the  circle  was  not  equal  to  a 


270  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

greater  strain  than  the  recalling  of  the  cases  of 
Laura  and  Petrarch  and  Beatrice  and  Dante ;  and 
they  knew  that  the  historical  researches  of  Lady 
Caroline  did  not  go  beyond  their  own.  She  did 
not  need  to  go  any  further  than  these  cases.  She 
was  quite  satisfied  to  be  recorded  by  all  bio- 
graphers of  the  author  of  Childe  Harold's  Pil- 
grimage as  his  Laura  or  his  Beatrice,  and  when 
she  found  that  her  poet  suffered  himself  to  be  led 
by  her  whithersoever  she  desired  to  lead  him,  her 
ambition  was  satisfied,  for  she  was  convinced  that 
the  world  was  talking  with  bated  breath  of  the 
influence  which  she  had  upon  him — she  could  hear 
them  wondering  what  his  next  poem  would  be 
like — would  it  reflect  very  plainly  the  result  of 
the  meeting  of  their  minds?  That  was  how  she 
put  it:  the  meeting  of  their  minds.  She  had 
hungered  for  literary  distinction.  Now  she  was 
about  to  obtain  it.  Whatever  his  new  poem 
would  be  she  was  convinced  that  critics,  without 
being  more  sapient  than  critics  usually  are,  would 
say  that  the  influence  of  Lady  Caroline  Lamb  was 
apparent  in  many  of  its  greatest  passages. 

In  any  case  she  made  up  her  mind  that  he 
would  dedicate  the  poem  to  her,  and  she  knew 
that  the  dedication  of  a  poem  lives  as  long  as  the 
poem  itself.  This  fact,  she  knew,  makes  it  worth 
any  young  woman's  while  to  go  to  a  certain 
amount  of  trouble  in  order  to  have  the  work  of 
a  greater  poet  dedicated  to  herself.  When  the 
means  which  she  adopts  for  the  effecting  of  her 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  271 

object  are  such  as  enable  her  to  partake  of  a  great 
deal  of  innocent  enjoyment  and  to  have  a  con- 
siderable share  in  the  honour  done  to  the  poet  in 
his  lifetime,  the  burden  of  sharing  the  immortal- 
ity of  his  work  is  not  one  that  is  grievous  to  be 
borne. 

This  is  what  a  good  many  people  remarked  in 
the  course  of  their  discussions,  with  the  usual 
smiles  and  knowing  headshakings,  of  the  poet  and 
his  friendship.  They  suggested  that  the  friend- 
ship was  a  very  delightful  one  for  the  lady,  and 
they  were  right.  There  were  others  who  said 
that  it  was  a  very  delightful  one  for  the  poet,  and 
these  were  also  right.  The  emotions  of  the  lady's 
husband  were  regarded  as  negligible.  Now  and 
again  there  came  a  report  that  he  had  remon- 
strated with  her;  but  as  it  was  generally  known 
that  all  his  married  life,  from  the  moment  that  he 
had  left  the  altar  with  her  by  his  side,  after  en- 
deavouring to  soothe  the  prelate  whom  she  had 
grossly  affronted,  was  one  continual  remonstrance, 
it  was  not  supposed  that  the  detail  which  touched 
upon  Lord  Byron  was  one  of  any  importance. 
She  still  lived  with  him  and  the  Melbournes  at 
Melbourne  House,  and  Byron  visited  her  almost 
every  day  and  extended  his  friendship  to  all  the 
members  of  her  family. 

He  felt  every  day  that  the  prospect  which  she 
had  held  out  to  him  had  been  realised.  He  was 
participating  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  in  the 
happiness  of  a  home.  If  Lady  Caroline  was  a 


272  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

sister  to  him,  Lady  Melbourne  was  much  more  of 
a  mother  than  his  own  mother  had  ever  been. 
She  was  even  more  of  a  mother  to  him  than  the 
younger  lady  was  a  sister,  and  this  was  probably 
why,  after  their  delightful  friendship  had  con- 
tinued for  several  months,  she  ventured  to  point 
out  to  him  the  possibility  of  ill-natured  persons 
gossiping  on  this  sacred  subject,  to  the  detriment 
of  himself  and  of  her  family.  She  said  nothing 
about  the  detriment  to  Lady  Caroline,  knowing 
as  she  did,  that  an  extra  word  or  two  of  gossip 
could  matter  little  to  her. 

"My  dear  Byron,"  she  said  one  day  when  she 
was  alone  with  him.  "I  have  been  thinking  a 
good  deal  about  you  and  your  visits  to  us,  and  I 
feel  that  I  should  tell  you  that  the  result  of  my 
consideration  of  the  matter  is  to  make  me  feel 
that  we  have  been  extremely  selfish  in  regard  to 
you.  It  has  been  so  agreeable  to  all  of  us  to  have 
your  society  that  we  have  shut  our  eyes  to  the 
possibilities  of  harm  coming  of  your  visits." 

"Harm?"  he  cried.  "Dear  Lady  Melbourne, 
you  do  not  think  of  shutting  me  out  from  the  only 
good  influence  that  has  ever  come  into  my  life." 

"Good  influence?  That  is  just  the  question 
which  disturbs  me,"  said  Lady  Melbourne.  "Can 
that  influence  be  accounted  as  good  which  per- 
mits a  man  of  genius  to  fritter  away  his  days 
in  idleness  ?  Will  posterity  hold  us  guiltless  when 
it  is  known  that  we  admitted  you  to  this  house 
day  after  day  to  no  purpose,  to  spend  your  time 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  273 

in  a  boudoir  chattering  about  nothing  that  is  of 
the  least  consequence  in  the  world — playing 
games  with  the  children " 

"The  children — I  believe  that  they  have 
changed  my  nature — they  have  done  more  for 
me  than  all  the  divines,  than  all  the  philo- 
sophers - 

"That  is  all  very  well;  but  it  is  necessary  for 
you  to  show  to  the  world  how  greatly  you  have 
profited  by  their  influence." 

"Oh,  the  world!  I  can  afford  to  despise  the 
world." 

"  You  cannot  afford  to  despise  yourself,  Byron ; 
and  if  the  influence  of  the  children — of  this  house- 
hold— has  been  exercised  in  a  right  direction  you 
will  soon  be  despising  yourself.  Hours  of  Idleness 
—that  was  the  name  of  your  early  poems,  but 
those  meant  hours  of  work.  Your  real  profitless 
hours  of  idleness  only  began  when  you  became 
intimate  with  us  in  this  house.  Dear  Byron,  I 
am  much  older  than  you,  and  I  have  had  experi- 
ence of  the  world  and  of  all  the  most  notable  men 
and  women  of  our  time,  and  I  give  you  the  result 
of  my  life  when  I  tell  you,  in  all  kindness  and  with 
all  feelings  of  true  affection,  that  you  were  never 
in  greater  danger  than  you  are  at  present." 

He  laughed,  but  uneasily ;  and  then  he  frowned 
before  saying, 

" Danger?     Danger  of  what,  my  dear  lady?" 

"  Danger  of  deterioration,"  she  replied.  "  Dan- 
ger of  losing  every  sense  of  responsibility." 

18 


274  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  Responsibility  for  what? — to  whom? "  he  said. 

"To  yourself  to  begin  with — to  Heaven,  by 
whom  you  were  endowed  with  genius — to  the 
world  which  you  are  cheating  out  of  its  due.  Do 
you  think  that  it  is  a  light  thing  to  be  a  poet  and 
a  genius,  Byron?  Do  you  think  that  you  were 
so  endowed  for  the  gratification  of  yourself  alone?" 

"  I  take  a  humbler  view  of  my  gifts,  madam, 
such  as  they  are." 

"  Then  you  do  a  great  wrong  to  Heaven.  Heaven 
has  endowed  you  with  its  most  precious  gift  to 
mortals.  A  poet  is  a  man  sent  from  God  to 
convey  His  message  to  men.  A  poet  is  God's 
trumpet  to  sound  into  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth.  A  poet  is  an  interpreter  between  God  and 
man,  and  no  one  knows  that  better  than  yourself, 
Byron,  however  you  may  scoff  at  poets  in  general 
and  talk  cynically  of  yourself.  Those  very  ele- 
ments in  Childe  Harold,  which  some  people  call 
sceptical,  tell  me  that  you  take  a  true  and  an  ex- 
alted view  of  your  vocation.  Well,  now  you  have 
the  ear  of  the  world,  and  yet  instead  of  making 
the  most  of  your  opportunity  you  are  frittering 
away  your  time  in  this  house.  Forgive  me  if  I 
have  spoken  to  you  with  frankness.  You  know 
that  I  have  only  spoken  to  you  as  I  would  to  my 
own  son." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  compliment  which  you 
have  paid  to  me,  my  dear  lady,"  said  Byron,  kiss- 
ing her  hand.  He  was  deeply  touched  by  the 
earnest  way  in  which  she  had  spoken  to  him, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  275 

although  some  things  that  she  said  stung  him 
sharply,  feeling  as  he  did  that  they  were  true. 
"Indeed  I  thank  you;  but  you  are  mistaken  in 
believing  that  I  take  so  exalted  a  view  of  any- 
thing that  I  have  written,  even  though  I  awoke 
one  morning  and  found  myself  famous.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  shall  never  write  another 
line." 

"And  that  is  the  result  of  the  good  influence 
which  you  tell  me  your  visits  to  this  house  have 
had  upon  you,"  said  Lady  Melbourne. 

"  I  do  not  say  that  I  have  come  to  this  deter- 
mination solely  on  account  of  my  delightful  asso- 
ciation with  your  household,  Lady  Melbourne," 
he  said  slowly.  "It  is  the  result  of  a  resolution 
which  I  made  some  time  ago." 

Lady  Melbourne  looked  at  him  for  some  mo- 
ments curiously,  and  then  laughed  gently. 

"You  talk  as  if  it  were  in  your  own  power  to 
stop  making  poetry,"  she  said.  "Your  deter- 
mination amuses  me — the  trumpet  made  a  resolu- 
tion that  never  again  would  it  utter  a  note  to 
rally  the  drooping  ranks  of  the  army;  but  the 
moment  that  liberty  was  in  danger  there  came  a 
trumpet  blast  in  the  ears  of  the  nation  that  slept ; 
the  trumpet  found  out  that  it  was  not  its  own 
master — that  there  was  a  Power  behind  it  that 
made  it  sound  as  He  pleased.  My  dear  Byron, 
I  know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself.  If  I 
thought  that  you  would  have  it  in  your  power  to 
keep  your  resolution  I  would  tell  you  to  leave  this 


276  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

house  at  once  and  never  to  cross  its  threshold 
again ;  but  I  know  that  you  have  heard  the  voice 
that  all  true  poets  have  heard — the  voice  that 
calls  and  you  cannot  choose  but  obey  its  sum- 
mons. Will  you  tell  me  that  you  have  never 
heard  that  voice  calling  to  you,  Byron?" 

He  became  more  uneasy  than  ever.  He  looked 
away  from  her  and  bit  his  nails  nervously  as  was 
his  habit.  He  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked 
across  the  room  to  the  window.  There  was  a  long 
silence.  He  gave  a  sigh,  quite  failing  to  stifle  it. 

"Ah!  here  is  Caroline  back  from  her  ride  at 
last,"  he  said. 

"Let  her  come,"  said  Lady  Melbourne.  "I 
know  that,  in  spite  of  Caroline,  you  sometimes 
even  now  hear  that  mysterious  voice  whispering 
to  you  as  you  heard  it  before;  and  I  know  that 
when  it  calls  to  you  one  day,  you  will  not  be  able 
to  resist  its  summons.  Now  I  have  uncharged 
my  soul.  I  have  warned  you." 

"You  have  purged  yourself  from  all  responsi- 
bility, my  dear  lady,"  said  he.  "My  sins  will  be 
visited  on  myself  only." 

"That  is  impossible,"  said  she.  "The  world  is 
so  ordered  that  the  consequences  of  a  man's  sins 
cannot  be  confined  to  himself  alone.  His  acts 
effect  others  as  well.  They  suffer  for  him." 

"Unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation,"  said 
Byron.  "That  upsets  all  our  ideas  of  justice. 
But  that  is  how  things  are  ordered.  One  man 
eats  his  cake  and  another  suffers  the  indigestion." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  277 

Then  Lady  Caroline  entered  the  room.  She 
had  been  riding  in  the  Park  and  had  expected  to 
meet  Byron  there;  forgetting  that  he  had  told 
her  that  he  was  to  breakfast  with  Mr.  Hobhouse, 
who  had  been  with  him  for  some  time  on  his 
travels.  She  was  very  angry  with  him  because  of 
her  forgetfulness.  She  pouted  in  order  to  be 
petted,  and  when  he  did  not  show  himself  quite 
as  ready  as  he  usually  was  to  admit  himself  in 
the  wrong,  she  stormed  very  prettily,  setting  him 
laughing;  and  then  became  tearful;  at  which  he 
promised  to  stay  for  lunch,  and  so  throughout  the 
day  the  comedy  of  disconnections — the  force  of 
the  illogical — was  played,  and  being  both  the  actor 
and  the  audience,  he  was  greatly  diverted ;  though 
as  he  was  driven  back  to  St.  James's  Street  to 
dress,  in  order  to  be  her  companion  at  a  great 
reception  the  same  night,  he  was  graver  than  he 
had  been  at  any  time  during  the  day. 

All  that  Lady  Melbourne  had  said  came  back 
to  him.  He  felt  that  every  word  that  she  had 
spoken  was  true.  He  was  frittering  his  days  away 
quite  unworthily,  and,  moreover,  with  the  wasting 
of  his  time  he  was  encouraging  people  in  their 
nodding  and  whispering  every  time  that  he  and 
Lady  Caroline  entered  a  room  together.  So  far 
as  he  himself  was  concerned  he  did  not  mind  the 
innuendoes  of  these  people ;  but  Lady  Melbourne 
had  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  harm  coming  to 
others  through  his  acts.  .  .  . 

He  was  not  a  lively  companion  for  Lady  Caro- 


278  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

line  for  the  rest  of  the  evening ;  though  for  her  part 
she  did  not  care  greatly  whether  he  were  lively  or 
the  opposite.  She  was  quite  content  to  be  seen 
with  him,  and  to  prevent  some  odiously  beauti- 
ful women  who  she  knew  had  designs  upon  him 
from  having  more  than  a  few  minutes'  conversa- 
tion with  him.  She  had  had  some  evidence  of 
the  infatuation  of  more  than  one  attractive 
woman  for  Byron — she  had  found  a  letter  on  his 
table  one  day  when  she  was  calling  at  his  rooms, 
and  she  had  not  scrupled  to  read  it;  and  at  an- 
other time  she  noticed  that  he  was  wearing  a 
woman's  jewel  dangling  beside  his  own  seal,  and 
he  refused,  with  many  a  tantalising  suggestion  of 
intrigue,  to  tell  her  how  he  had  acquired  it.  She 
was  always  jealous  of  her  influence  upon  him ;  and 
she  was  not  clever  enough  to  know  that  only  by 
the  exercise  of  toleration  and  by  a  knowledge  of 
when  to  turn  away  her  head,  and  when  to  close 
her  eyes,  can  a  woman  retain  her  hold  upon  a 
man,  whether  that  man  be  her  lover  or  only  her 
husband. 

People  said  that  poor  Byron  could  not  call  his 
soul  his  own,  but  these  were,  for  the  most  part, 
the  women  of  engaging  manners  who  had  been 
"warned  off  the  course,"  as  the  sporting  men  put 
it,  by  Lady  Caroline.  Others  said  that  as  Byron 
had  written  a  poem  to  prove  that  men  have  no 
souls,  it  was  only  a  just  retribution  that  had 
fallen  upon  him  now  in  the  form  of  that  soul- 
snatcher  with  the  hair  of  a  saint. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  279 

These  were  people  who  were  ever  on  the  side  of 
true  religion,  and  who  in  the  secret  depths  of 
their  own  hearts  felt  that  they  would  be  glad  to 
change  places  with  Byron,  atheism  and  all.  Only, 
of  course,  they  would  take  very  good  care  that 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb  did  not  make  fools  of  them, 
as  she  certainly  was  making  of  Lord  Byron. 

But  Lord  Byron  was  on  his  way  to  wisdom,  as 
every  man  is  who  begins  to  feel  that  he  has  been 
making  a  fool  of  himself — he  did  not  accuse  Lady 
Caroline  of  anything. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  was  some  days  later  that  they  had  a  little 
quarrel  that  passed  beyond  the  limits  of 
their  usual  little  brother-and-sister  recriminations, 
which  invariably  ended  in  a  teasing  imploration 
for  forgiveness  and  an  entrancing  "making 
friends  "  again,  with  perhaps  an  outburst  of  gaiety 
and  a  will-o'-the-wisp  dance  by  the  lady.  But 
this  was  different. 

It  is  certain  that  something  happened  to  dis- 
turb her  before  Byron  arrived,  and  her  little  girl 
who  was  in  her  boudoir  had  not  been  made  very 
happy.  He  arrived  late,  excusing  himself  by  say- 
ing he  had  been  overtaken  by  Rogers,  who  had  a 
good  deal  to  say  to  him  as  they  had  not  had  an 
opportunity  of  conversing  for  some  months. 

"  And  so  you  waited  to  listen  to  him  when  you 
were  due  here?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "But  I  assure  you  I  left 
him  before  we  had  exhausted  our  topics :  we  are 
to  clear  off  all  arrears  at  dinner  on  Friday." 

"You  have  not  promised  to  dine  with  him  on 
Friday?"  she  cried.  "Friday  is  the  day  of  Mrs. 
Lambton's  ball:  you  are  coming  there  with  me." 

"Confound  it!"  said  he.  "Why  will  people 
ask  me  to  dances?  Is  it  to  humiliate  me,  know- 

280 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  281 

ing  that  I  cannot  join  with  the  jackanapes  in  hop- 
ping about  a  blowsy  woman  till  we  are  both 
blown?  I  will  go  to  Rogers 's  dinner,  and  if  I  have 
time  I  may  look  in  at  the  Lambtons'  on  my  way 
home." 

"Do  you  expect  that  I  will  consent  to  so  ab- 
surd an  arrangement? "  she  cried.  "  You  will  not 
dine  with  Mr.  Rogers  and  his  coterie  to  talk  scan- 
dal half  the  night.  You  will  accompany  me  to 
the  Lambtons',  Byron." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Byron,  "but  I  pro- 
mised Rogers.  Sheridan  is  to  be  one  of  us,  and 
Campbell  and  Moore  and  a  few  others.  Heavens ! 
Caroline,  when  such  fare  as  this  is  at  one  side  of 
the  road  and  the  Lambtons'  ball  on  the  other, 
which  would  I  choose,  can  you  fancy?" 

"The  very  fact  of  your  asking  such  a  question 
indicates  your  intention  to  wound  me  and  you 
know  it,"  she  cried.  "You  forget  that  I  shall  be 
at  the  Lambtons'." 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said,  smiling;  "I  am  not  so  im- 
polite." 

"  If  you  remembered  it,  you  were  more  impolite 
still,"  said  she. 

"You  place  me  between  the  horns  of  a  di- 
lemma," he  said,  with  a  humorous  imitation  of  a 
Frenchman's  shrug.  "  If  I  say  that  I  forgot  that 
you  were  going  to  the  Lambtons',  I  disgrace  my- 
self; if  I  say  that  I  remembered,  I  shall  hurt 
your  feelings.  Think,  my  Caroline,  that  this  is 
one  of  the  times  when  a  man  should  be  silent. 


282  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

These  times  occur  more  frequently  in  a  man's  life 
than  he  knows  of." 

"That  is  quite  true.  One  of  the  times  was 
when  you  met  Mr.  Rogers  and  rashly  agreed  to 
dine  with  him;  for  you  are  not  going  to  dine 
with  him." 

"  I  don't  think  that  dove-coloured  robe  suits 
you  on  such  a  dull  day  as  this,"  said  Byron,  play- 
ing with  one  of  her  sleeves. 

She  snatched  her  arm  away  with  an  excla- 
mation. 

"Do  you  fancy  that  I  will  give  in  to  you 
because  you  object  to  the  shade  of  my  robe?" 
she  cried. 

"If  I  were  anxious  to  propitiate  a  woman  I 
should  never  make  the  first  advance  by  assuring 
her  that  her  dress  did  not  become  her,"  said 
Byron. 

"Then  you  do  not  want  to  propitiate  me?" 

"Why  should  I?  You  never  stand  in  need  of 
being  propitiated.  You  are  always  on  the  mar- 
gin on  reasonableness." 

She  flared  up. 

"You  delight  in  saying  everything  that  will 
pique  me,"  she  cried.  "You  fancy  that  I  am 
wholly  in  your  power — that  you  may  affront  me 
at  your  will,  but  I  will  show  you  that — that — 

She  flounced  out  of  the  room,  but  she  did  not 
flatter  herself  when  she  fancied  that  she  did  it 
very  prettily.  She  was  woman  enough  to  know 
that  men  are  apt  to  regard  as  insipid  a  woman 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  283 

who  chooses  to  remain  placid  in  all  circumstances. 
Byron  had  shown  himself  to  be  the  poet  of  storm 
rather  than  of  calm.  She  believed,  and  rightly, 
that  she  had  wearied  him  during  the  first  few 
months  of  their  friendship  by  her  manifest  desire 
to  please  him.  She  hoped  that  it  was  not  yet  too 
late  to  make  a  diversion. 

It  was  not.  Byron  was  quite  diverted  by  the 
flashing  of  her  will-o'-the-wisp  lightning.  She 
heard  him  laugh  quite  pleasantly  before  she  had 
reached  the  corridor. 

But  the  little  girl  who  was  left  alone  with  Byron 
showed  signs  of  taking  her  mother's  mood  rather 
seriously.  She  had  had  previous  experience  of 
the  same  lady,  and  knew  that  she  had  some  rea- 
son for  alarm.  She  looked  at  Byron  and  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  his  merriment  was  artifi- 
cial, or  else  he  did  not  know  her  mother.  She 
shook  her  head  and  began  to  sob.  Byron  had 
her  in  his  arms  in  a  moment,  soothing  her  by 
her  favourite  story  of  a  giant  killing  people, 
and  then  by  singing  her  an  Albanian  lullaby. 
In  a  very  short  time  he  had  soothed  her  so  com- 
pletely that  she  would  not  leave  him,  but  lay  with 
her  head  of  golden  curls  on  his  shoulder,  a  little 
chubby  arm  about  his  neck,  the  prettiest  nestling 
imaginable. 

She  was  not  so  greatly  interested  in  the  Alban- 
ian lyric  as  she  had  been  in  the  story  of  the  giant's 
carnage  and  voracity,  and  soon  her  eyes  closed. 
He  looked  down  at  her  with  all  the  pride  of  his 


284  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

achievement:  he  had  never  heard  of  a  man's  put- 
ting a  child  asleep.  He  continued  his  lilt  in  a 
lower  tone,  fearful  lest  the  little  one  should  awaken 
to  weep :  he  had  heard  of  men  (fathers,  too)  run- 
ning away  from  a  crying  child.  The  incantation 
continued  to  work,  however,  and  he  soon  became 
aware  of  the  fact  that  an  infant  of  three  is  a 
considerable  burden  when  asleep  in  the  arms  of 
a  man  who  has  been  nursing  her  in  a  constrained 
position,  with  a  bent  back,  and  feet  only  touching 
the  floor  with  their  toes. 

He  was  beginning  to  manoeuvre  for  a  more 
natural  pose,  still  crooning  his  lullaby,  when  the 
door  opened  quickly.  His  back  was  toward  it, 
and  he  could  not  turn  round  without  disturbing 
the  child  to  warn  the  intruder.  He  could  only 
hold  up  one  finger  beyond  his  shoulder,  whisper- 
ing, "H'sh!  h'sh!  I  will  not  have  the  child 
aroused  however  penitent  you  may  be,  madam." 

Then  he  resumed  his  chant,  and  soon  began  to 
marvel  at  the  silence  of  the  one  who  had  entered 
the  room.  If  it  was  Lady  Caroline,  she  had  cer- 
tainly become  penitent  beyond  all  precedent — 
with  an  inartistic  want  of  reserve. 

He  turned  his  head  round,  bending  it  back  at 
the  side  of  his  chair  until  he  could  see  to  the  door. 
Then  it  was  that  he  found  that  it  was  not  the 
child's  mother  who  was  there ;  it  was  a  young  and 
pretty  girl,  who  wore  her  hair  in  ringlets  that 
flowed  from  beneath  a  hat  of  much  simpler  design 
than  Lady  Caroline  affected.  She  had  advanced 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  285 

only  a  few  steps,  and  was  standing  with  a  rather 
frightened  expression  on  her  face. 

She  flushed  crimson  when  Byron  looked  at  her, 
and  he  was  even  in  advance  of  her  in  this  respect. 
She  was  a  complete  stranger  to  him;  and  he  was 
certainly  in  an  unusual  position.  Some  moments 
had  passed  before  he  regained  sufficient  self-pos- 
session to  say,  jerking  his  head  round  as  before, 
very  awkwardly : 

"Pray,  come  in;  Lady  Caroline  will  be  here 
presently,  I  am  sure." 

"Thank  you,  my  lord,"  said  the  girl,  rather 
nervously,  but  advancing  a  few  steps;  "but — 
but — I  knew  that  she  was  not  here — I  knew  that 
you  were  here  alone." 

"Not  quite  alone,"  said  he.  "But — I  am  not 
sure  that — 

"  Oh,  you  never  met  me  before,  if  that  is  what 
you  are  thinking,"  she  said.  "  My  name  is  Anna- 
bella  Milbanke.  Lady  Melbourne  is  my  father's 
sister.  I  have  only  been  in  town  for  a  few  days. 
I  heard  of  you,  Lord  Byron,  and — and — 

She  became  very  nervous;  he  could  hear  her 
quick  breathing.  He  did  his  best  to  place  her  at 
her  ease,  though  he  was  far  from  being  at  ease 
himself.  The  child  was  amazingly  heavy.  He 
felt  an  attack  of  cramp  coming  on. 

"Of  course — of  course,"  he  said.  "I  am  only 
sorry  that  your  curiosity — that  is,  the  interest 
which  you  are  good  enough  to  take  in  me — you  will 
pardon  me  rising — you  see — the  pretty  little  soul 


286  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

was  troubled  about  something,  and  fell  asleep 
in  my  arms.  You  have  doubtless  read  about  that 
unhappy  Childe  Harold  and  became  interested 
in " 

"I  read  Childe  Harold  and  it  shocked  me,  I 
think  it  dreadful,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  a 
certain  pretty  primness. 

He  was  amused. 

"And  therefore  you  were  anxious  to  see  the 
dreadful  author?"  said  he.  "Yes,  and  alone — 
you  admitted  just  now  that  you  knew  that  I  was 
alone.  Miss  Milbanke,  you  are  a — a  woman." 

"I  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  my  duty  to 
come  to  you,  Lord  Byron;  my  mother  did  not 
know  of  my  resolution,"  said  the  girl.  "It  may 
have  been  wrong  of  me  not  to  tell  her ;  but  I  felt 
that  I  should  do  my  best  to  see  you  so  that  I 
might  say  how  wrong  you  have  been — 

"H'sh!"  he  whispered,  for  she  had  raised  her 
voice  and  was  speaking  with  great  earnestness. 
"H'sh!  it  will  never  do  to  visit  my  sins  upon  so 
sweet  a  little  head  as  this ;  I  would  not  have  her 
awakened  for  worlds ;  and,  indeed,  Miss  Milbanke, 
I  am  not  worth  all  the  trouble  to  which  you  have 
put  yourself." 

"  Any  person  who  has  the  power  of — of — doing 
so  much  mischief  as  you  have,  is  worth  saving,  if 
only  on  account  of  the  poor  people  who  may  be 
led  astray,"  said  the  girl.  "Lord  Byron,  I  am 
very  young  and  I  am  country  bred;  I  have  had 
no  experience  of  the  world ;  but  I  know  how  good 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  287 

religion  is  for  everybody  and  how  dreadful  it  is 
for  anyone  to  scoff — the  more  beautiful  the  poetry 
is,  the  more  wicked  it  becomes,  leading  innocent 
people  to  scoff — and  your  poetry  is  very  beautiful. 
That  is  what  makes  it  so  bad,  so  sad." 

He  could  see  that  tears  were  trembling  in  her 
eyes.  She  spoke  with  vehemence,  but  her  atti- 
tude and  tone  were  not  those  of  the  one  who  de- 
nounces, but  of  the  one  who  entreats.  Her  hands 
became  clasped.  He  felt  that  the  gesture  was 
not  premeditated,  but  it  took  away  in  a  moment 
from  the  primness  of  the  appearance  of  this  ear- 
nest little  lady. 

The  picture  in  that  daintily  decorated  room — 
panels  painted  after  Lady  Diana  Beauclerk's  de- 
signs of  playing  children,  every  child  a  Cupid, 
and  gilt  chairs  upholstered  in  pink  damasked  silk 
—would  have  seemed  queer  had  anyone  been 
present  to  see  it.  The  poet  whose  name  was  on 
everyone's  lips,  who  was  being  idolised  by  the 
most  distinguished  society  in  the  world,  and  de- 
nounced in  many  pulpits,  sat  in  his  constrained 
attitude  over  the  child  so  that  her  head  could 
rest  comfortably  on  his  shoulder  and  her  little 
white  arm  still  encircle  his  neck ;  and  a  few  yards 
away  that  graceful  girl  stood  with  imploring 
hands  before  him,  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes 
brimming  with  tears ;  and  both  of  them  recognis- 
ing the  fact  that  the  child  must  on  no  account 
be  awakened,  their  voices  seeming  all  the  more 
intense  by  the  necessity  to  keep  them  subdued. 


288  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"What  am  I  to  say  to  you,  Miss  Milbanke?" 
said  Byron.  "I  feel  inclined  to  say  anything 
that  you  may  suggest  to  me,  to  give  you  any 
promise  that  you  may  ask  me  to  make  to  you — 
yes,  unto  the  half,  nay,  the  whole,  of  my  king- 
dom, my  little  empire  of  metre,  and  I  myself  will 
retire  to  any  Elba  that  you  may  assign  to  me." 

"  I  expected  that  you  would  make  a  mock  of 
me,"  said  the  girl.  "Your  poetry  sounds  like 
that  of  a  mocking  spirit  who  looks  upon  the 
world  and  all  that  it  contains  as  nothing  more 
than  a  grim  jest.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
would  not  be  deterred  by  your  mocking  of  me, 
and  you  have  not  been  half  as  bad  as  I  expected." 

"  Believe  me,  I  am  not  mocking  you,  Miss  Mil- 
banke," said  he.  "  Every  word  that  I  spoke  just 
now  I  meant.  I  cannot  deny  anything  that  you 
have  said.  Childe  Harold  has  made  me  famous, 
but  I  have  come  to  think  of  such  fame  in  the 
light  of  infamy.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
write  no  more.  I  have  already  withdrawn  much 
of  what  I  have  already  written,  because  I  found 
that  it  was  giving  offence.  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
shall  not  withdraw  Childe  Harold " 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  cried  the  girl,  so  eagerly  that  the 
child  in  Byron's  arms  made  an  uneasy  move.  He 
held  up  a  warning  finger  and  Miss  Milbanke  low- 
ered her  voice.  "  I  did  not  mean  you  to  go  so 
far  as  that — oh,  no;  you  must  not  think  of  giv- 
ing up  writing  poetry.  Could  you  do  it?  I 
wonder  if  you  could  do  it.  I  always  thought  that 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  289 

great  poets  were  like — like  the  Hebrew  prophets. 
One  of  them  declared  that  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  that  he  was  simply  the  messenger  of  God." 

"  But  how  if  a  poet  becomes  the  messenger  of 
the  Evil  One,  Miss  Milbanke?" 

"  He  must  change,  that  is  all.  He  must  write 
for  the  glory  of  God.  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  you  withdraw  Childe  Harold,  it  is  so  beau- 
tiful in  parts,  it  is  all  true  poetry;  if  I  did  not 
feel  that  it  was  so  great,  would  I  have  braved  all 
as  I  have  done  in  order  to  implore  of  you  to — to 
write  nothing  more  like  it,  but  to  use  your  splen- 
did powers?  Oh!  I  feel  that  I  have  fallen  into 
the  strain  of  a  preacher — commonplace ;  everyone 
has  been  saying  that  you  should  employ  your 
gifts  in  a  right  direction,  and  things  like  that.  I 
meant  to  say  something  different,  to  ask  you  if 
you  do  not  think  that  it  would  be  nobler  to  write 
a  single  verse  that  would  give  true  comfort  to 
some  weary  soul,  a  single  verse  to  make  the 
simple  life  of  a  man  or  woman  seem  brighter, 
than  to  write  a  great  poem  whose  tendency  is  to 
make  people  doubt,  to  induce  people  to  mock." 

"  I  feel  that  it  would — I  feel  that  you  are  right 
in  this  matter,  Miss  Milbanke." 

"Oh,  Lord  Byron,"  she  cried,  with  whispered 
intensity,  "look  down  at  that  little  one  which  is 
in  your  arms  and  ask  yourself  if  you  would  like 
to  see  her  grow  up  believing  all  that  Childe  Harold 
would  lead  people  to  believe." 

"God  forbid,"  said  Byron.     "She  is  a  sweet 


290  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

child.  I  hope  you  do  not  think  that  she  is  con- 
taminated by  being  in  the  arms  of  the  wretch 
who  wrote  Childe  Harold." 

"Now  you  are  mocking  again,"  she  said. 

"Come  hither  and  kiss  the  child,  Miss  Mil- 
banke,"  said  he.  "I  kissed  her  before  she  slept. 
I  should  like  you  to  kiss  her  now." 

Only  for  a  moment  did  the  girl  show  any  hesi- 
tation. She  walked  slowly  to  where  he  was  sit- 
ting, and  knelt  on  the  carpet,  putting  her  lips 
down  among  the  masses  of  golden  spirals  that  fell 
around  the  child's  face,  and  kissing  her  on  her 
little  cheek,  hot  and  flushed  in  sleep. 

"A  white  butterfly  alighting  with  infinite  ten- 
derness on  a  pink  sleeping  flower,"  whispered 
Byron.  "  I  knew  that  I  could  trust  you  not  to 
awaken  her." 

But  there  was  another  one  at  the  door  whom 
he  could  not  so  trust.  The  door  was  flung  open 
and  she  almost  sprang  into  the  room,  and  stood 
glaring  at  the  tableau  before  her. 

The  child  stirred  uneasily.  Byron  raised  his 
hand,  saying, 

"  Hush!     You  make  such  a  noise ! " 

"What  has  brought  you  hither,  pray,  Belle 
Milbanke?"  cried  Lady  Caroline.  "Who  invited 
you  to  my  boudoir?  Let  me  tell  you  that  for  all 
your  primness  and  propriety— 

"The  child  is  awake — I  knew  that  you  would 
awake  her,"  cried  Byron. 

"We  are  all  awake,  my  Lord  Byron,  though 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  291 

you  and  this  silly  chit  seemed  to  fancy  that  I 
would  shut  my  eyes  to  your  assignation,"  shrieked 
Lady  Caroline. 

"Caroline,  you  forget  yourself,"  said  Miss  Mil- 
banke,  with  all  the  dignified  severity  of  a  small 
woman. 

"You  are  a  pretty  censor — you,  alone  in  this 
room  with  Lord  Byron,"  cried  Caroline. 

"Miss  Milbanke  came  as  a  pretty  censor  and 
she  spoke  with  good  sense,  as  all  censors  should," 
said  Byron.  "If  she  will  allow  me,  I  shall  ac- 
company her  to  Lady  Melbourne's  drawing- 
room." 

"That  will  be  a  lapse  into  propriety,"  sneered 
Caroline.  "She  will,  I  fear,  find  it  insipid  after 
an  hour  of  the  solitary  society  of  the  lively  Lord 
Byron.  Do  not  go  down  with  her,  Byron." 

"  I  cannot  allow  Miss  Milbanke  to  go  alone. 
You  have  suggested  that  she  came  as  a  visitor  to 
me,  and  you  were  right.  That  makes  it  incum- 
bent on  me  to  accompany  her  to  Lady  Melbourne," 
said  Byron,  going  to  the  door.  Miss  Milbanke 
was  already  there. 

"You  fool!  I  made  the  suggestion  on  behalf 
of  the  girl,"  cried  Caroline.  "  I  want  to  save  her 
from  the  result  of  her  own  indiscretion.  She  is 
but  a  girl.  Byron,  stay,  I  command  you." 

Miss  Milbanke  had  left  the  room,  Byron  was 
following  her,  when  Lady  Caroline  sprang  be- 
tween him  and  the  door  with  the  fierce  agility  of 
a  wild  cat.  She  banged  the  door  and  locked  it 


292  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

in  his  face.  Then  holding  up  the  key,  she  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter,  dancing  before  him  in  her 
old  fashion,  waving  the  key  in  his  face.  His  face 
had  become  very  pale. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  few  moments ;  he  seemed 
in  doubt  what  he  should  do.  Was  he  to  make 
the  attempt  to  take  the  key  from  her?  He  knew 
that  that  was  what  she  wanted  him  to  do;  she 
could  easily  elude  him,  and  so  she  would  place 
him  in  even  a  more  humiliating  position  than 
that  which  he  occupied  when  made  a  prisoner  by 
her.  Should  he  try  to  cajole  her  into  opening  the 
door?  He  swore  to  himself  that  he  would  get 
out  by  the  window  before  adopting  such  tactics 
with  her. 

He  went  away  from  the  door,  took  the  hand  of 
the  little  wondering  girl,  and  seated  himself  on 
the  nearest  chair. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,  my  lord,"  she  cried. 
"Are  you  content?  Tell  me  that  you  are  con- 
tent, and  I  shall  release  you." 

He  made  no  reply.     He  stroked  the  child's  hair. 

"  Innocence,  you  always  were  fond  of  inno- 
cence," she  said.  "And  as  if  the  children  here 
were  not  enough  for  you,  you  must  needs  have 
Belle  Milbanke  in  your  train!  The  impudent 
hussy! — in  my  very  room!  What  next,  I  won- 
der! What  had  she  to  say  to  you?  She  began, 
of  course,  by  warning  you  against  me,  I  know 
her.  She  has  tried  to  lecture  me  before  now.  I 
know  her,  flaunting  her  innocence  in  my  face! 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  293 

She  heard  that  you  were  dangerous,  that  was  the 
attraction.  What  danger  could  there  be  to  her, 
with  her  triple  armour  of  innocence?  Her  plain 
face,  that's  a  far  better  protection  to  her  than 
all  her  armour  of  innocence.  She's  plain,  is  she 
not,  Byron?" 

He  made  no  answer.  She  flounced  away  from 
him  and  sat  on  her  little  sofa,  her  back  turned  to 
him,  her  feet  tapping  on  the  parquet.  The  child 
stood  with  a  ringer  in  her  mouth,  looking  alter- 
nately at  Byron  and  her  mother. 

In  the  course  of  five  minutes  of  silence  the  tap- 
ping of  her  foot  became  intermittent,  and  then 
ceased  altogether.  The  sound  of  a  little  sob  came 
from  her,  there  was  the  fluttering  of  a  dainty 
little  piece  of  cambric,  then  a  little  choking  cry, 
then  a  thunderstorm  of  passionate  sobs  and  tears 
and  moans,  interjected  words,  incomplete  phrases : 
"Miserable  wretch! — Wretched  woman  that  I 
am! — My  best  friend! — The  only  friend  I  ever 
had! — dead — dead — dead — all  the  sweet  past 
dead! — Nothing  to  live  for  now! — Oh,  fool,  fool, 
fool  that  I  was! — No,  mad — that  is  it — I  was 
mad,  mad! — Oh,  Byron,  come  to  me,  if  you 
would  save  my  life!  Come  to  me, — no,  I  will  go 
to  you,  I  will  kneel  to  you — plead  for  forgiveness — 
plead  for  my  life!  See,  I  throw  myself  at  your 
leet 

And  she  would  have  thrown  herself  at  his  feet 
if  he  had  not  prevented  her.  He  had  a  man's 
horror  of  a  scene  with  a  hysterical  woman.  He 


294  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

did  everything  he  could  think  of  to  tranquillise 
her.  It  was  he  who  needed  forgiveness  for  his 
brutality,  he  declared.  The  fault  was  his,  she 
had  only  been  too  good  to  him,  and  so  forth,  all 
the  ready  perjuries  which  come  so  pat  to  a  man's 
lips  when  a  woman  has  made  a  fool  of  him  and  he 
knows  it  and  wants  to  escape  from  the  sight  of 
her  kneeling  to  him.  Perjury?  He  would  have 
gone  much  further  to  escape,  merely  to  free  him- 
self from  the  abnormalities  of  contrition  with 
which  she  threatened  him. 

At  last  he  succeeded  in  calming  her.  She  sat 
beside  him,  and  he  held  her  hand.  Her  tears 
ceased.  An  April  smile  came  to  her  face  as  she 
showed  him  the  little  damp  ball  that  had  been 
her  cambric  handkerchief.  She  flung  it  across  the 
room.  She  patted  her  little  girl  on  the  head  and 
made  her  nestle  against  her.  Later,  she  gave  the 
child  the  key  and  told  her  to  put  it  into  the  key- 
hole of  the  door;  and  when  the  tiny  fingers 
fumbled  at  their  task,  she  laughed  with  Byron, 
and  then  ran  to  help  her,  showing  her  how  to 
insert  the  key  and  turn  it,  unlocking  the  door. 

Of  course,  he  did  not  make  a  rush  for  freedom. 
But  when,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  he  found 
himself  outside  the  house,  he  felt  a  greater  relief 
than  he  could  express  except  through  the  medium 
of  verse.  He  made  a  noteworthy  attempt  some 
years  later  in  this  direction. 

While  he  was  driving  to  St.  James's  Street,  his 
mind  was  running,  not  upon  the  scene  in  which 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  295 

he  had  taken  rather  a  prominent  part,  but  upon 
some  of  the  natural  beauties  of  the  ^Egean,  which 
he  remembered  well.  There  was  a  sheltered  little 
island  which  he  had  drifted  past  one  evening,  an 
island  that  peeped  up  out  of  the  blue  waters,  a 
place  of  peace.  He  was  filled  with  a  great  longing 
to  try  to  find  that  island  and  to  make  himself  a 
resting-place  among  the  tangles  of  its  wild  vines. 
He  thought  of  the  Hellespont.  It  was  a  broad 
piece  of  water,  and  he  had  enjoyed  emulating  the 
feat  of  Leander  in  crossing  it ;  Leander  had  swum 
across  it  to  reach  the  lady.  Byron  wondered  how 
much  broader  the  Hellespont  would  have  to  be  to 
deter  him  from  making  the  attempt  to  get  away 
from  a  woman  who  had  bothered  him. 


CHAPTER  X 

HE  thought  that  it  would  not  be  wise  to  show 
her  how  he  had  been  affected  by  the  short 
time  which  they  had  spent  in  each  other's  com- 
pany upon  this  rather  exciting  day ;  he  had  come 
to  have  the  same  experience  of  her  that  a  good 
many  other  people  had  gained  before  he  had  re- 
turned from  his  travels,  and  he  knew  that  under 
the  influence  of  the  sudden  shock  of  finding  that 
she  had  lost  her  power  over  him,  she  would  put 
herself  to  a  considerable  amount  of  trouble  in  en- 
deavouring to  convince  him  that  it  did  not  rest 
with  him  alone  to  break  his  bonds,  that  she 
would  have  to  be  taken  into  account  before  he 
could  feel  the  joy  of  freedom.  He  feared  her  re- 
sentment, knowing  as  he  did  that  it  would  not 
be  limited  by  any  consideration  except  that  of 
making  him  suffer,  and  of  showing  as  many  of 
their  friends  as  were  available  that  she  was  mak- 
ing him  suffer.  He  had  a  fear  of  her  ingenuity 
in  devising  some  scheme  to  put  him  in  the  wrong 
in  the  eyes  of  their  friends  who  did  not  know  her 
any  better  than  he  had  known  her  in  the  early 
days  of  their  friendship.  Supposing  that  she  were 
to  throw  herself  on  her  knees  in  front  of  him  at 
some  great  reception,  calling  him  her  Byron,  and 

296 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  297 

upbraiding  him  for  having  deserted  her,  what 
joy  would  his  freedom  bring  to  him  in  such 
circumstances? 

And  then  there  was  always  the  possibility  of 
her  seeing  him  in  the  theatre.  He  remembered 
now  how  highly  amused  he  had  been  at  the  story 
which  had  been  told  to  him  of  how  she  had  inter- 
rupted the  performance  one  night  to  upbraid  an 
opponent  of  her  husband  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. He  had  been  highly  amused  by  the  nar- 
ration, and  it  had  added  to  the  interest  which 
Lady  Caroline  had  already  acquired  in  his  eyes. 
But  now,  as  the  dreadful  possibility  of  the  scene 
being  repeated  with  a  slight  change  of  personnel 
among  the  actors  occurred  to  him,  he  felt  far  from 
being  amused. 

Yes,  until  he  should  make  arrangements  for 
flying  to  that  exquisite  island  over  which  an  ever- 
lasting peace  seemed  to  hover,  spreading  the 
wings  of  a  dove  over  the  weary  mortals  who  lay 
down  among  the  fig  trees  and  vines  to  breathe 
the  soft  scents  of  an  azure  summer  sea,  until  he 
was  safe  aboard  the  caique,  it  would  be  unwise 
to  make  a  move  to  obtain  his  freedom.  All  the 
bonds  which  are  woven  by  a  Delilah  do  not  be- 
come as  green  withes  on  the  limbs  of  the  man  she 
has  captivated.  Samson  was  a  strong  man  and 
a  great  humourist,  but  he  would  not  have  acted 
so  greatly  to  his  own  detriment  if  he  had  tem- 
porised a  little  with  the  lady. 

Then  there  was  the  case  of  the  artful  Ulysses, 


298  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

who  had  an  experience  that  proved  that  even  a 
tranquil  island  may  have  its  Circe ;  if  Ulysses  had 
acted  circumspectly,  he  would  have  been  spared 
a  considerable  amount  of  trouble. 

The  sum  of  his  consideration  of  his  position,  by 
the  aid  of  classical  lore,  was  to  make  him  feel 
that  he  should  not  be  abrupt ;  and,  after  all,  Caro- 
line Lamb  had  more  than  a  little  charm ;  she  had 
a  beauty  that  was  wholly  her  own,  and  above  all 
she  had  two  delightful  children.  Of  course,  Lady 
Oxford,  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  increasing 
friendship,  was  very  lovely,  and  her  little  girl — 
he  conferred  on  her  the  immortality  of  a  dedica- 
tion, calling  her  lanthe — was  exquisite;  still,  he 
felt  that  Lady  Caroline  should  not  be  treated 
abruptly. 

And  so  he  went  to  her  the  next  day,  and 
learned  from  her  own  lips  that  if  he  had  not  come 
to  her  she  would  have  gone  to  him.  She  be- 
haved so  prettily  to  him  that  he  went  away  feel- 
ing quite  glad  that  he  had  not  been  abrupt  with 
her,  that  he  had  been  sufficiently  self-possessed 
not  to  lay  an  undue  emphasis  upon  the  occurrences 
of  the  day  before.  Of  course,  he  had  resolved  to 
throw  off  her  shackles — they  were  silken  shackles, 
but  still  cramping ;  it  was  necessary,  however,  to 
act  with  caution. 

That  very  evening  he  met  Miss  Milbanke  at 
Holland  House.  Perhaps  he  may  have  been  de- 
sirous of  showing  this  young  lady  that,  although 
she  might  possibly  think  that  he  had  played  an 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  299 

indifferent  part  in  the  little  comedy  in  the  bou- 
doir, he  had  still  his  independence,  at  any  rate; 
Lady  Caroline  being  absent  from  his  side  for  a 
short  time,  he  took  the  trouble  to  cross  the  salon 
in  order  to  greet  her. 

She  was  plainly  pleased  by  his  attention,  and 
presented  him  to  her  father  and  mother. 

"  I  had  the  honour  to  meet  Lord  Byron  yester- 
day at  Aunt  Augusta's,"  she  said,  and  then  she 
went  on  to  talk  to  him  as  though  their  parting  on 
the  previous  day  had  been  of  the  most  conven- 
tional type,  and  quite  devoid  of  those  elements  of 
exhilaration  which  it  undoubtedly  possessed. 

He  had  no  notion  of  avoiding  in  conversation 
with  her  the  topic  of  Lady  Caroline's  behaviour. 

"  I  fear  that  she  was  very  rude  to  you,  Miss 
Milbanke,"  said  he,  apologetically — he  somehow 
seemed  to  suggest  that  it  was  right  that  he  should 
apologise  for  her. 

Miss  Milbanke  became  rather  frigid. 

"  I  considered  that  it  was  really  to  you  she  was 
most  rude,  Lord  Byron,"  she  said.  "  I  am  a  sort 
of  relation  of  hers — Mr.  Lamb's  cousin,  as  no 
doubt  you  know ;  and  she  has  had  more  than  one 
opportunity  of  saying  hateful  things  about  me. 
I  did  not  pay  much  attention  at  any  time  to 
what  she  said ;  I  have  always  detested  her  affec- 
tations—  especially  her  affectations  of  wicked- 
ness. I  think  that  the  woman  who  tries  to  make 
out  that  she  is  worse  than  she  really  is,  is  quite 
detestable." 


zoo  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"Lady  Caroline  is  so  impulsive  that  at  times 
she  cannot  but  run  the  chance  of  hurting  people's 
feelings,"  said  he. 

"  If  she  did  not  go  farther  than  merely  to  run 
the  chance,  she  would  be  vastly  disappointed," 
said  Miss  Milbanke,  with  just  a  suggestion  of  bit- 
terness to  barb  her  shaft. 

"  She  is  witty,  and  people  who  are  witty— 

"Yes;  I  suppose  they  should  be  judged  from 
the  standpoint  of  a  wit,  not  from  the  standpoint 
of  a  gentlewoman.  The  most  witty  things  ever 
said  sound  to  my  ears  extremely  ill-natured. 
As  for  yesterday — but  I  feel  that  it  was  I  who 
drew  her  anger  down  upon  myself.  I  have  been 
feeling  all  night  that  I  was  very  silly — I  really 
think  that  I  was  rude — in  obtruding  myself  upon 
you  yesterday;  and  yet  the  week  before,  when  I 
had  risen  warm  from  reading  Childe  Harold,  my 
scheme  did  not  seem  so  absurd.  I  felt  that  I 
must  write  to  you, — and  I  composed  several  let- 
ters, but  tore  them  all  up;  they  did  not  satisfy 
me.  Then  it  was  that  I  resolved  to  see  you  and 
—well,  I  was  fortunate  enough,  or  unfortunate 
enough,  to  see  you,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  the  first  person — woman 
or  man — who  ever  succeeded  in  telling  me  the 
truth — what  I  have  myself  felt  to  be  the  truth, 
Miss  Milbanke.  You  may  assume  that  your 
kindly  mission  undertaken  on  my  behalf  suc- 
ceeded in  impressing  me  so  deeply  that,  as  I  told 
you,  I  mean  to  take  your  advice  and  refrain  from 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  301 

writing  another  line  of  verse  that  might  possibly 
give  offence  to  Christian  people." 

Her  face  lightened ;  he  thought  that  with  such 
a  light  shining  from  her  eyes  she  looked  altogether 
handsome.  She  felt  pleased — flattered,  perhaps, 
incidentally;  but  there  was  really  no  self -con- 
sciousness in  her  expression,  nor  was  there  any 
of  that  prim  self-satisfaction  which  sits  so  visibly 
on  the  face  of  a  woman  who  has  done  her  duty, 
and  perhaps  a  little  more  than  her  duty. 

His  liking  for  this  girl  was  increasing.  It  was 
not  in  his  nature  to  make  the  attempt  to  under- 
stand why  he  liked ;  he  was  content  to  like.  He 
did  not  perceive  that  it  was  because  he  was  be- 
ginning to  be  palled  by  the  affectations  of  Lady 
Caroline  that  he  felt  it  a  great  relief  to  be  in  the 
company  of  this  girl  who  was  her  opposite  in 
every  way.  Miss  Milbanke  dressed  with  Quaker- 
like  severity,  but  her  enemies  said  that  she  would 
not  have  shown  herself  so  ready  to  do  so,  had  she 
not  been  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  this  severity, 
when  carried  out  through  the  medium  of  expen- 
sive silks  and  the  rarest  muslin,  suited  her  style 
of  beauty.  She  was  a  prude,  the  sisterhood  of 
caprice  affirmed,  because  the  role  went  well  with 
thin  lips  and  a  pale  complexion. 

At  any  rate  she  appeared  quite  attractive  in 
the  eyes  of  the  man  who  had  latterly  not  come 
very  closely  in  contact  with  prudery. 

"You  have  made  me  very  happy,"  she  said, 
after  a  thoughtful  silence  following  his  serious 


302  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

words.  "And  I  think  that  you  will  be  happier 
also,"  she  added. 

"When  I  come  to  die?"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Yes;  when  you  come  to  die;  that  was  not 
what  was  in  my  mind,  but  it  is  true,  neverthe- 
less," she  said. 

"  I  think  that  you  are  the  sort  of  girl  whom  I 
would  like  to  have  near  me  when  I  come  to  die," 
said  he. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought 
that  she  was  about  to  assure  him  that  he  would 
be  much  safer  in  the  hands  of  a  clergyman,  but 
that  still,  if  it  were  so  ordered,  she  would  endeav- 
our to  do  her  duty;  but  the  expression  on  her 
face  changed  and  she  said,  smiling, 

"  Now  you  are  wearing  the  expression  which  I 
was  told  was  habitual  with  you — the  expression  of 
the  gloomy  Childe  Harold,  who  was  tired  of  every- 
thing wicked  before  he  had  begun  to  look  for 
anything  good  in  the  world.  I  had  heard  that 
you  were  proud,  reserved,  and  austere." 

"And  yet  you  were  not  afraid  to  face  me  with 
your  message  and  your  rebuke?"  he  said. 

"That  was  because  I  felt  that — that — well, 
that  I  should  do  so  whatever  happened,"  said  she. 
"  I  buoyed  myself  up  with  the  thought  that  you 
had  no  power  to  order  my  head  to  be  cut  off  in 
the  front  of  the  house,  just  where  Charles  the 
First  was  beheaded.  But  when  I  entered  the  room 
and  found  you  putting  the  child  asleep,  I  felt  just 
as  if  I  had  come  to  the  wrong  house.  I  was  so 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  303 

much  surprised  that  everything  which  I  had  meant 
to  say  to  you  went  out  of  my  head.  I  had  quite  a 
little  speech  prepared  to  hurl  at  your  head." 

"  A  denunciation? " 

"  Not  exactly ;  but  I  saw  at  once  that  it  would 
not  meet  the  case  of  a  man  nursing  a  baby." 

"And  you  were  disappointed,  I  am  sure." 

"  For  a  moment.  You  remember  how  Jonah 
was  disappointed  when  the  people  of  Nineveh 
repented.  I  think  that  I  sympathised  with  the 
prophet  for  a  moment.  But  when  I  thought  last 
night  what  my  speech  contained,  I  felt  very  glad 
that  I  had  no  chance  of  delivering  it.  Oh,  it  was 
very  foolish — just  what  one  would  fancy  might 
be  composed  by  a  girl :  I  have  written  essays  for 
my  governess,  Mrs.  Clermont.  This  was  one." 

He  laughed  at  her  frankness :  it  sounded  charm- 
ing to  him.  He  had  been  looking  across  the  room ; 
when  he  turned  to  her  he  found  that  she  had  gone 
to  where  her  mother  was  sitting.  She  had  fled 
like  a  chick  to  its  mother's  wing  on  its  enemy 
coming  in  sight. 

Lady  Caroline  had  slipped  up  the  salon,  and 
was  now  standing  just  behind  him.  She  was 
looking  at  Miss  Milbanke  over  her  shoulder. 

"You  are  here?"  he  said.  "I  did  not  observe 
you  coming  up." 

She  never  so  much  as  glanced  at  him.  She 
continued  watching  the  girl,  as  immovable  as  a 
wildcat  watching  a  bird.  That  was  what  was  in 
Byron's  mind  at  the  moment — a  wildcat — rigid 


304  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

— ready  to  spring.  Miss  Milbanke  was  not  look- 
ing at  her ;  she  was  answering  a  question  that  had 
been  put  to  her  by  her  mother. 

Lady  Caroline  stood  quivering  with  the  cat's 
excitement,  her  fingers  opening  and  closing  upon 
each  palm — claws. 

Byron  perceived  that  the  scene  which  he  had 
dreaded,  and  used  all  his  strategy  to  avert,  was 
imminent.  The  woman  took  a  single  stealthy 
step  toward  the  girl,  and  then  crouched  again,  so 
to  speak.  He  startled  her  by  getting  behind  her 
and  whispering  in  her  ear  : 

"Caroline,  listen  to  me  before  you  move  an- 
other foot.  If  you  speak  a  single  word  at  this 
moment  to  Miss  Milbanke,  you  have  seen  the  last 
of  me.  I  swear  by  the  heavens  above  us  that  I 
will  never  be  seen  in  your  company  again,  and  I 
shall  take  care  that  it  is  known  that  I  will  never 
enter  a  room  in  which  you  are.  Now  you  know 
where  you  stand." 

He  spoke  in  a  low,  resolute  tone,  the  force  of 
which  could  hardly  be  neglected  even  by  Lady 
Caroline  Lamb.  She  was  startled:  turning  her 
head  and  looking  at  him,  saw  her  master.  The 
fierceness  went  out  of  her  eyes.  She  remained 
gazing  at  him  as  if  fascinated.  Then,  by  the 
exercise  of  a  curious  instinct,  she  closed  her  hands 
gently,  hiding  her  nails  in  the  velvet  hollow.  She 
laughed  strangely,  with  her  eyes  still  fixed  upon 
him. 

"Come  into  the  supper-room,"  he  said. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  305 

She  did  not  move. 

"Come,"  he  said. 

"Why  should  I  obey  you?  Why  should  I  fol- 
low you?"  she  cried. 

He  turned  about  and  walked  away.  She  had 
only  a  moment's  hesitation.  She  made  haste  to 
get  alongside  him. 

"What,"  she  said,  "is  the  anchorite  Lord  Byron 
turned  sybarite?  Is  he  abandoning  his  biscuits 
and  soda-water  in  favour  of  minced  chicken  and 
champagne?  Does  his  lordship  seek  a  partner  in 
his  orgy  of  beeves  and  muttons  ?  This  is  a  change, 
indeed.  Byron  the  bon  vivant.  But,  indeed, 
Colonel  Clifford  was  telling  me  just  now  that 
when  you  were  so  minded  you  could  drink  your 
claret  like  a  lord — like  a  real  lord,  not  the  sort 
that  boasts  of  brains.  But  listen  to  me,  I  swear 
to  you  by  the  heavens  above  that  if  you  drink 
more  than  two  bottles,  you  shall  have  seen  the 
last  of  me." 

She  laughed  at  her  own  quick  parody  of  his 
threat:  she  had  done  her  imitation  very  neatly; 
he  was  amused — in  a  measure.  Behind  his  diver- 
sion, however,  there  was  the  solid  satisfaction  of 
having  averted  a  disagreeable  excitement. 

For  the  next  hour  he  remained  with  her  at  the 
supper  table.  He  had  never  found  her  so  full  of 
spirits.  She  sparkled;  she  rang  all  the  changes 
upon  that  carillon  of  wit  which  she  had  at  her 
command  when  she  was  at  her  best — raillery  of 
the  rarest,  in  a  low  key,  badinage  of  the  briskest, 


306  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

rising  a  note  or  two  and  quivering  in  quavers  of 
laughter,  with  her  head  thrown  back,  an  arm  in 
the  air,  gracefully  gesticulating,  eyes  brilliant, 
sometimes  coaxing,  another  moment  drooping, 
to  match  a  pout  on  her  pretty  lips,  and  then  a 
satiric  phrase  or  two,  the  irony  that  went  so  well 
with  her  lisp,  giving  it  exactly  the  right  emphasis 
of  innocence. 

She  had  never  been  so  amusing  since  he  had 
come  to  know  her. 

"Claret,"  she  cried,  "another  bottle  of  claret 
for  my  Lord  Byron?" 

"Not  after  champagne,"  he  said. 

"Champagne?  You  have  tasted  nothing  but 
soda-water  and  hock." 

"Champagne,  I  tell  you.  By  heavens,  I  have 
been  drinking  glass  after  glass  of  champagne  all 
the  evening.  That  is  how  I  feel.  Can  my  senses 
have  deceived  me?  No,  no;  one  cannot  have 
drunk  merely  hock  and  soda-water  and  be- 
lieved it  was  champagne.  I  know  the  difference. 
And  served  in  such  glass,  too !  The  daintiest  that 
ever  came  out  of  Venice — tinkling,  tinkling,  while 
the  wine  is  twinkling  in  roseate  beads  and  bubbles ; 
and  the  whitest  froth  that  ever  made  one  think 
of  the  infant  Aphrodite." 

"What  i'  the  name  of  blessedness  are  you 
scampering  after  with  your  tongue?"  she  said. 
"  What  is  it  that  you  are  chattering  about  in  alle- 
gorical form,  Childe  Harold?" 

"  There 's  only  one  thing  in  the  world  to  which 


Love  Alone  is  Lord  307 

I  could  refer — to  wit — the  wit  of  the  wittiest 
creature  in  England,"  he  cried.  "To  listen  to 
you,  my  Caroline,  is  like  drinking  champagne  out 
of  a  Venetian  goblet." 

She  sparkled  in  exultation  of  her  victory. 
Belle  Milbanke !  What  a  fool  she  had  been  to  have 
a  moment's  jealousy  of  Belle  Milbanke — an  in- 
sipid miss  fresh  from  the  schoolroom,  brim  with 
the  learning  of  the  school  spelling-book,  simper- 
ing in  the  joy  of  her  sampler!  Belle  Milbanke? 
Cider.  What  man  that  has  drunk  deep  of  cham- 
pagne would  turn  to  cider? 

And  still  she  had  a  feeling  that  Belle  Milbanke 
was  somewhere  at  hand,  smiling  in  that  chill, 
chaste  way  that  she  had,  all  the  time  that  Byron 
was  sitting  beside  her  at  the  supper  table.  She 
felt  an  unaccountable  dread  of  the  girl,  which  all 
the  froth  of  gaiety  with  Byron  failed  to  dissipate. 
She  had  the  instinct  of  a  jealous  animal  quivering 
with  a  desire  to  get  its  claws  into  its  enemy  of  the 
same  sex. 

With  only  the  smallest  pause  and  a  glance 
round  the  room  to  see  who  was  watching  her,  she 
plunged  into  the  whirlpool  again — laughing — a 
little  louder  than  before, — railing — a  trifle  harder, 
— mocking  somewhat  more  shrilly.  She  wished 
that  Belle  Milbanke  had  been  in  the  room.  She 
wanted  the  girl  to  be  a  witness  of  her  triumph. 
Psha !  the  growl,  the  snarl,  the  claws — these  were 
only  for  the  jungle,  where  victory  could  only  be 
snatched  out  of  an  opponent's  teeth  and  at  the 


3o8  Love  Alone  is  Lord 

expense  of  much  fur  and  a  zigzag  of  lacerations. 
Thank  God  we  are  civilised  people  who  can  ap- 
preciate the  joys  of  an  intellectual  victory — the 
victory  of  wit  and  cajolery — and  wish  that  our 
defeated  opponent  were  at  hand  to  witness  the 
subjugation  of  the  man.  But  Belle  Milbanke  re- 
mained away,  and  so  Lady  Caroline's  triumph 
was  shorn  of  half  its  glory. 

Everyone  else  at  Holland  House  witnessed  it 
and  heard  it.  She  became  very  noisy  after  the 
end  of  an  hour.  The  champagne  was  bubbling 
over  the  mouth  of  the  bottle,  and  its  very  exuber- 
ance made  it  distasteful  to  fastidious  eyes.  Byron 
felt  that  he  had  had  enough  of  the  brand  which 
had  seemed  to  him  so  choice  a  short  time  before. 
The  louder  she  became,  the  more  silent  he.  When 
his  chance  came,  he  seized  it.  It  came  in  form  of 
a  summons  from  the  House  of  Lords.  Lord  Hol- 
land brought  it.  There  was  a  debate  on  Eman- 
cipation, and  all  the  strength  of  the  Opposition 
was  needed  for  the  discomfiture  of  the  Govern- 
ment. Lord  Holland  was  going  in  hot  haste  to 
support  his  friends  and  so  were  several  of  his 
Whig  friends.  He  wanted  Byron. 

Byron  flung  away  his  napkin  and  rose  from  the 
table. 

" Crede  Byron!"  he  cried.  "  My  vote,  my  voice, 
my  song,  my  sword — all  are  on  the  side  of 
Liberty  !  Is  your  lordship's  carriage  at  the 
door?" 

"You  shall  not  go,  Byron,"  said  Lady  Caroline, 


Love  Alone  is  Lord  309 

springing  up  from  the  table.  "  You  shall  not  go. 
What  are  the  Irish  Catholics  to  you  that  you 
should  rush  off  in  this  mad  fashion?" 

"She  is  a  pretty  Irishwoman,"  said  Byron,  to 
Lord  Holland.  "She  would  condemn  five  mil- 
lions of  her  countrymen  to  the  shackles  which  the 
oppression  of  centuries  has  riveted  to  their  limbs, 
solely  that  she  should  have  a  chance  of  eating 
another  cup  of  ice!" 

"  Lady  Caroline  should  not  complain  even  if 
her  own  husband  were  to  be  taken  from  her  side 
in  the  cause  of  Liberty,"  said  Sheridan,  who  was 
one  of  the  emissaries  of  the  Opposition  sent  to 
Holland  House  to  find  supporters  for  Lord  Mel- 
bourne in  the  House  of  Lords. 

Lord  Holland  examined  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 
Someone  at  a  table  hard  by  laughed. 

"Never  mind  my  husband,  Mr.  Sheridan," 
cried  Lady  Caroline,  turning  sharply  upon  him. 

"Nay,  madam,"  he  replied.  "I  have  not  a 
wife's  prerogative:  he  votes  on  my  side  with 
great  regularity." 

"And  that  is  the  side  of  Liberty,"  said  Byron. 

"Psha!"  cried  Lady  Caroline,  making  a  grim- 
ace. "You  look  on  Liberty  as  you  would  on  a 
young  woman  who  is  b  la  mode — a  pretty  creature 
to  coquette  with — a  dainty  thing  with  a  mob  cap 
and  short  petticoats — like  this." 

She  picked  up  a  napkin  that  was  already  folded 
up  something  in  the  form  of  a  mob  cap,  placed  it 
on  her  head,  and,  lifting  up  her  dress  beyond  her 


3io  Love  Alone  is  Lord 

ankles,  went  strutting  with  a  French  swagger 
across  the  room. 

Everyone  laughed:  there  was  some  applause 
from  one  of  the  tables. 

"  A  perfect  performance ! "  said  Sheridan.  "  An 
inspiring  performance !  Off,  my  Lord  Byron,  you 
will  vote  for  Liberty,  and  feel  in  doing  so  that  you 
are  voting  for  Lady  Caroline.  Madam,  one  word 
with  you.  Seriously — I  am  talking  seriously  now 
— I  am  talking  of  the  playhouse  now,  not  of 
politics."  His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  that  en- 
grossed her  attention.  "Why  should  such  un- 
equalled talents  be  exhibited  only  to  a  score  of 
admirers?  Drury  Lane  will  be  opened  in  the 
autumn.  There  will  be  an  opening  address — I 
believe  some  fifty  or  more  poets  are  working  at 
it  just  now — think  what  it  would  be  for  you  to 
come  on  the  stage  in  the  character  of  Liberty  and 
repeat  an  address  written  by  our  friend  Byron." 
He  was  bending  down  to  her,  gradually  drawing 
her  away,  with  many  suggestions  of  secrecy. 
"  Byron  would  write  the  address  if  you  were  to 
ask  him,  and  so  long  as  Drury  Lane  exists  it  will 
be  remembered  that  Lady  Caroline  Lamb  and 
Lord  Byron  spoke  the  first  words  ever  uttered  on 
the  stage  for  the  public  to  hear.  What  is  your 
feeling  on  the  point,  Lady  Caroline?  Whisper  it 
to  me,  I  entreat  of  you.  I  would  not  for  the 
world  that  it  became  prematurely  known." 

Lady  Caroline  sank  gracefully  into  the  nearest 
chair,  her  eyes  brilliant,  her  lips  parted,  her  hands 


Love  Alone  is  Lord  311 

clasped.  Her  face  was  radiant  as  the  face  of  a 
bride. 

"Mr.  Sheridan,  trust  to  me,"  she  whispered. 
"  Byron  will  write  it  for  me.  Take  my  word  for 
it,  he  would  not  do  it  unless  for  me.  But  he  will 
write  it  for  me.  And  I  will  speak  it  for  you,  dear 
Sheridan — only  for  you.  A  red  mob  cap — Lib- 
erty— only,  of  course,  adapted  to  the  best  class 
of  playgoers — Union  Jack  Liberty,  not  a  tricolour 
one.  I  see  it  clearly  before  me.  Of  course,  the 
band  will  play  God  Save  the  King — that  will  let 
the  people  know  at  once  the  kind  of  Liberty  that 
I  am  impersonating.  I  do  not  mind  the  short 
petticoats." 

"Liberty  without  short  petticoats  would  look 
as  foolish  as  King  Richard  without  his  hump  or 
as  a  white  Othello,"  said  Sheridan.  "But  you 
will  be  mum,  till  our  plans  are  mature.  Not  a 
word  of  this  must  get  out  or  all  will  be  lost.  But 
you  are  a  woman  of  understanding.  I  wonder  if 
it  would  be  possible  to  obtain  a  bottle  of  his 
lordship's  '77  claret — 'The  School  for  Scandal' 
claret  we  call  it.  That  was  the  year  that  The 
School  was  first  played.  Ah,  you  are  too  young 
to  remember  Mrs.  Abington  at  her  best.  The 
most  beautiful  woman — and  such  talent.  May  I 
be  pardoned  for  saying  that  in  many  ways — grace 
of  carriage,  brilliancy  of  style — you  remind  me 
very  forcibly  of  Mrs.  Abington?  I  must  look 
after  that  claret." 

Lady  Caroline  glanced  round.     She  perceived 


312  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

that  Byron  and  Lord  Holland  had  disappeared. 
Well,  that  was  only  reasonable,  she  admitted. 
It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  they  should  re- 
main while  she  was  planning  surprises  with  Mr. 
Sheridan.  Surely  that  was  an  inspiration  of  hers 
—that  parody  of  Liberty,  she  thought.  And 
equally  so — only  suggested  by  hers — was  Mr. 
Sheridan's  idea  respecting  the  opening  scene  of 
Drury  Lane.  She  knew  that  already  people  in 
every  direction  were  discussing  the  possible  ad- 
dress to  be  spoken  on  the  stage  of  the  new  Old 
Drury.  The  opening  of  the  theatre  would  be  the 
most  brilliant  event  of  the  year,  and  she  would 
be  the  central  figure  upon  that  occasion.  Old 
Mr.  Sheridan  was  a  delightful  man — she  had 
never  before  been  able  to  appreciate  his  clever- 
ness. He  was  so  ready  at  taking  a  hint.  He  had 
the  quick  eye  of  an  artist — the  judgment  of  a 
man  of  the  world,  who  knew  what  would  be  likely 
to  carry  the  town. 

It  was  the  combination  of  his  many  gifts  that 
enabled  him  to  perceive  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  in  England  who  could  give  true  effect  to 
the  speaking  of  an  address  written  in  verse  by  the 
poet  whose  name  was  in  everyone's  mouth. 

Meantime  Mr.  Sheridan  had  found  the  claret 
for  which  he  had  gone  in  search.  Among  his 
many  gifts  the  one  which  was  least  conspicuous 
was  not  his  capacity  to  pronounce  a  sound  judg- 
ment on  the  qualities  of  claret.  As  he  inhaled 
the  bouquet  of  the  bottle  which  had  been  brought 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  313 

to  him  (in  confidence)  by  Lord  Holland's  butler, 
he  chuckled  over  his  successful  ruse  by  which  he 
had  covered  the  retreat  of  Byron.  His  life  had 
been  passed  in  contriving  ruses  to  cover  his  own 
retreat  from  the  claws  of  tradesmen,  and  his 
power  of  appreciating  the  weaknesses  of  men  and 
women,  and  of  playing  upon  them  to  his  own 
advantage,  was  sufficient  to  inform  him  that  in 
dealing  with  Lady  Caroline  he  need  not  be  at  the 
trouble  to  devise  anything  elaborately  subtle. 
He  felt  that  he  was  only  wheedling  a  tradesman. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  lately,  Mr.  Sheri- 
dan?" Mr.  Campbell,  the  poet,  inquired  of  him, 
while  he  was  still  smiling  over  his  first  bottle  of 
claret. 

"  I  have  just  been  giving  a  cat  a  dish  of  cream," 
he  replied. 

Mr.  Campbell  had  never  quite  come  to  under- 
stand Sheridan's  methods;  he  looked  puzzled. 
He  lifted  up  the  edge  of  the  table-cloth  and 
glanced  under  the  table,  he  sent  his  eyes  straying 
about  the  corners  of  the  room.  Then  he  looked 
at  Sheridan's  bottle  of  claret:  he  had  heard  of 
people  seeing  black  cats  invisible  to  normal  sight. 

"  And  why  did  you  give  the  cat  the  cream,  Mr. 
Sheridan?"  he  asked. 

"To  get  her  to  take  her  claws  out  of  a  friend 
of  mine,"  Sheridan  replied.  "But  now  that  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  it  was  only  water  with  chalk 
sprinkled  over  it." 

Mr.  Campbell  smiled  indulgently.     He  thought 


3  H  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

it  better  not  to  add  to  his  questions.  It  would 
be  ungenerous  to  take  advantage  of  the  unfortun- 
ate gentleman's  willingness  to  betray  himself.  He 
did  not  leave  Mr.  Sheridan,  however,  until  the 
latter  had  promised  to  do  his  best  for  him  in  case 
the  committee  of  Drury  Lane  agreed  to  offer  a 
prize  for  the  most  suitable  address  to  be  spoken 
at  the  opening  of  the  theatre. 

Mr.  Sheridan  spent  one  half  of  his  days  making 
promises  to  his  friends  and  his  tradesmen,  and 
the  other  half  in  evading  them. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  Byron  met  Rogers  a  few  days  after 
the  Holland  House  reception,  his  friend 
expressed  his  regret  at  being  cut  off  from  the 
pleasure  of  entertaining  him  at  dinner  on  the 
coming  Friday. 

"Have  you  written  to  me?"  said  Byron.  "I 
heard  nothing  about  your  dinner  being  put  off." 

"Nor  is  it,"  said  Rogers.  "But — I  have  seen 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  and  she  conveyed  to  me 
your  message." 

"  I  sent  no  message  to  you  or  to  anyone  else 
through  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,"  said  Byron. 

"  What — no  message  to  the  effect  that  you  were 
sorry  that  you  had  forgotten  your  engagement 
for  the  same  evening  made  a  month  before  you 
had  accepted  mine?"  said  Rogers,  raising  his 
eyebrows. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Byron,  putting  his  arm 
through  Rogers 's,  "when  I  accepted  your  invita- 
tion I  allow  that  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment 
that  I  had  promised  to  attend  Lady  Jersey's  ball, 
but  had  I  remembered  I  should  still  have  agreed 
to  dine  with  you.  A  ball!  Heavens,  man, 
't  would  be  as  ridiculous  for  me  to  decline  your 
dinner  on  the  plea  that  I  was  going  to  a  ball,  as 

315 


316  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

it  would  be  for  a  blind  man  to  excuse  himself  on 
the  plea  that  he  was  going  to  the  Royal  Academy 
Exhibition  at  Somerset  House.  I  am  beginning 
to  suspect  that  the  hostesses  who  invite  me  to 
balls  are  but  showing  how  sarcastic  they  can  be 
at  my  expense." 

"I  am  afraid  that  Lady  Caroline  acquired  a 
wrong  idea  of  your  intentions,"  said  Rogers.  "I 
met  her  yesterday,  and  she  asked  me  if  I  had 
received  a  letter  from  you  excusing  yourself  for 
Friday.  When  I  replied  in  the  negative,  she 
cried  out  upon  your  carelessness,  and  then  said 
that,  on  her  reminding  you  that  you  were  going 
to  Lady  Jersey's,  you  had  promised  to  write  to 
me  explaining  how  it  was  that  you  had  made  a 
mistake,  being  under  the  impression  that  you 
were  free  for  Friday." 

Rogers  saw  Byron's  face  become  white  with 
anger;  he  felt  somewhat  embarrassed — though 
why  he  should  feel  as  if  he  had  suddenly  discov- 
ered a  disagreement  between  a  man  and  his  wife, 
he  never  could  tell.  He  hastened,  with  his  usual 
tact,  to  smooth  away  the  wrinkles  that  had  come 
on  the  surface  of  their  friendship,  saying: 

"Never  mind.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Lady 
Caroline's  intention  was  to  save  both  of  us  from 
a  misunderstanding;  but  I  am  glad  to  meet  you 
now  and  to  learn  that  you  will  not  be  prevented 
from  joining  my  little  circle." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Byron,  still  pale,  but 
recovering  his  self-possession,  "  I  would  go  to  your 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  317 

dinner  on  Friday  even  though  the  consequences 
of  doing  so  were  that  I  should  never  attend  a 
ball  for  the  rest  of  my  life — even  though  I  should 
never  be  seen  again  in  public  by  the  side  of  Lady 
Caroline  Lamb.  Oh,  I  shall  be  present  at  your 
dinner,  never  fear." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  Rogers.  "  You 
may  depend  on  the  potatoes  being  the  choicest 
that  Covent  Garden  can  produce,  while  the  vine- 
gar will  be  of  a  vintage  year — that  I  can  promise 
you." 

Byron  laughed,  remembering  that  upon  the 
occasion  of  his  dining  for  the  first  time  with 
Rogers  he  was  on  a  regimen  that  prevented  his 
being  able  to  partake  of  any  of  the  delicacies  of 
the  table  with  the  exception  of  potatoes  with 
vinegar. 

"  Like  Jeffrey's,"  said  Byron.  "  The  vinegar  of 
the  Edinburgh  satirists  is  ever  a  vintage  vinegar 
—more  wholesome  than  the  sugar  and  water  of 
the  Post." 

Thus  they  parted,  and  Rogers  was  conscious  of 
that  singular  impression  of  having  peeped  in  on  a 
family  difference.  He  believed  that  Byron  had 
told  Lady  Caroline  that  he  was  to  dine  with  him, 
Rogers,  and  that  the  lady,  fearing  that  she  would 
be  deprived  of  her  privilege  of  displaying  herself 
alongside  the  poet  at  Lady  Jersey's,  had  endeav- 
oured to  exact  from  him  a  promise  to  excuse  him- 
self from  the  dinner. 

Perhaps,  too,  she  had  succeeded  in  getting  such 


318  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

a  promise  from  him.  He  thought  that  it  was 
considered  inevitable  in  the  case  of  such  a  friend- 
ship as  existed  between  Byron  and  Lady  Caroline 
that  the  poet  should  promise  everything  that  he 
was  asked  to  promise.  Still,  it  was  his  impression 
that  the  lady  had  gone  a  little  too  far  in  accepting 
the  duty  of  cancelling  Byron's  engagements  with 
his  other  friends. 

And  that  was  exactly  what  Byron  thought. 
He  felt  that  he  had  very  nearly  been  made  a  fool 
of  in  the  eyes  of  his  best  friends  by  Lady  Caroline ; 
and  this  feeling  was  linked  closely  to  another — a 
feeling  that  it  might  be  that  his  best  friends 
thought  Lady  Caroline  had  long  ago  done  this. 
Lady  Melbourne,  who  was  her  husband's  mother, 
had  proved  to  him  that  this  was  her  belief;  he 
could  not  expect  that  all  his  other  friends  should 
be  as  cordially  frank  as  Lady  Melbourne;  at 
any  rate  they  refrained  from  expressing  any 
definite  opinion  within  his  hearing  on  this  deli- 
cate point;  but  he  had  noticed  the  exchange  of 
glances  between  Lord  Holland  and  Sheridan  at 
the  supper  table,  when  Lady  Caroline  was  mak- 
ing a  move  to  assert  herself.  The  very  fact  that 
Sheridan  thought  it  well  to  bring  his  unrivalled 
powers  of  cajolery  into  play  in  order  that  he, 
Byron,  should  have  a  chance  of  slipping  away 
without  attracting  her  attention — just  as  a  school- 
boy would  steal  away  from  the  schoolroom  when 
the  master  has  ordered  him  to  stay  to  complete 
his  task — this  very  incident  was  of  itself  some- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  319 

thing  of  a  hint  to  him  of  how  he  appeared  in  the 
eyes  of  his  friends.  They  had  assumed  that  he 
was  not  altogether  a  free  agent — that  before  he 
could  take  a  step  of  even  minor  importance,  Lady 
Caroline  would  consider  herself  entitled  to  say  a 
word  or  two.  He  required  to  be  treated  as  a 
schoolboy;  an  adroit  friend  had  out  of  his  good 
will  covered  his  retreat  by  wheedling  the  lady. 
And,  moreover,  the  fact  of  his  friend's  undertaking 
to  wheedle  the  lady  was  rather  more  than  a  hint 
that  he  believed  her  to  be  a  silly  creature,  easy 
to  be  played  upon  by  a  man  practised  in  the  art 
of  cajoling.  That  meant  that  he,  Byron,  had 
been  fool  enough  to  allow  his  name  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  that  of  a  silly  woman. 

He  had  no  difficulty  whatever  in  imagining 
the  comments  of  his  friends  upon  this  incident — 
the  laughter  of  the  men  lolling  in  the  chairs  at  the 
club — another  story  of  Sheridan's  cleverness,  only 
it  was  not  of  Sheridan's  managing  to  evade  a 
pressing  creditor  by  his  plausible  tongue,  but  of 
Sheridan's  adroitness  in  enabling  that  poor  devil, 
Byron,  to  escape  from  the  silly  woman  who  was 
supposed  to  have  him  in  her  clutches. 

And  now  here  was  Rogers,  with  his  story  of 
how  she  had  endeavoured  to  prove  to  all  the 
world  that  he  was  not  his  own  master  even  to  the 
extent  of  accepting  an  invitation  to  dine  with  his 
friends.  A  hen-pecked  husband — that  was  his 
position,  only  that  he  was  not  the  husband,  only 
the  friend;  he  was  the  hen-pecked  friend — the 


320  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

good-natured  house-dog  who,  to  while  away  the 
time,  had  trotted  round  to  the  hen-coops  and 
found  that  the  wire  door  had  closed  behind  him 
so  that  he  could  not  escape,  and  so  was  pecked  at 
and  flapped  at  until  he  was  forced  to  squeeze  him- 
self between  the  meshes  of  the  wire-netting  in 
order  to  escape  when  the  hen  was  not  looking. 

He  knew  that  it  was  the  most  good-natured  of 
his  friends  who  looked  on  him  as  the  useful  do- 
mestic dog  of  the  family.  The  others — and  these 
were  in  the  majority — hinted  at  his  character  for 
wildness;  he  was  not  to  be  trusted  in  a  house; 
the  old  wolf  had  not  yet  been  tamed  out  of  him. 
It  was  understood  that  Madame  de  Stael  took 
this  view  of  his  association  with  the  Melbourne 
household.  She  gave  a  very  witty  version  of  La 
Fontaine's  fable  of  Le  loup  et  Vagneau  to  her 
circle  at  the  salon  of  the  Misses  Berry,  the  humour 
being  that  the  lamb  made  the  wolf  her  slave  and 
taught  him  to  eat  grass  and  to  be  generally 
vegetarian  in  his  habits,  saying  "baa"  to  every 
suggestion  he  ventured  to  make,  until  he  felt 
humiliated  in  the  eyes  both  of  the  sheep  and 
the  wolves.  But  the  lamb,  being  a  silly  crea- 
ture, trusted  too  much  to  the  charm  of  her  own 
society  to  keep  down  the  wolf  nature,  for  one  day 
when  she  had  flung  into  the  lake  a  savoury  bone 
which  the  wolf  was  about  to  taste,  he  turned  upon 
her  and  dined  off  lamb  cutlets  for  several  days  in 
succession. 

"The  moral,"  said  Madame  de  Stael, — "the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  321 

moral  is  that  while  a  wolf  is  always  a  wolf,  a  lamb 
may  be  cooked  in  nine  different  ways,  and  Pla- 
tonic affection  is  the  mayonnaise  which  makes 
cold  lamb  quite  palatable." 

He  had  heard  a  whisper  about  this  fable.  He 
had  laughed  at  that  time,  but  now  he  did  not 
laugh,  recollecting  it.  He  felt  humiliated.  He 
had  flared  over  the  town  as  the  author  of  Childe 
Harold's  Pilgrimage;  thousands  of  people  had 
flocked  to  the  Park  when  it  was  known  that  he 
was  riding  there;  thousands  had  gone  to  the 
theatre  on  the  chance  of  catching  a  glimpse  of 
him  in  a  box ;  but  now  even  his  own  friends  were 
shrugging  their  shoulders  at  the  mention  of  his 
name.  Even  Rogers  had  assumed  that  he  had 
no  choice  but  to  go  with  Lady  Caroline  Lamb  to 
a  ball,  although  he  had  accepted  his  invitation  to 
dinner. 

He  found  his  friend,  Lord  Sligo,  waiting  for  him 
at  his  rooms.  The  two  had  not  met  since  they 
had  been  for  some  time  together  in  the  East,  and 
now  they  were  both  in  high  spirits  at  being  in 
each  other's  company  in  town. 

"It  makes  me  feel  a  man  again,"  cried  Byron. 
"  Heavens !  the  breath  of  the  Bosphorus  is  on  my 
cheek  when  I  see  you  beside  me.  Oh,  those 
nights  aboard  the  boat — moonlight!  what  moon- 
light! The  city  of  the  mosque  and  minaret! 
.  .  .  .  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  able  to 
look  out  of  that~window  and  see  one  of  the  mina- 
rets of  that  place  of  palms  and  mirth — to  hear 


322  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  muezzins'  cry  instead  of  the  trundling  of 
hackney  coaches." 

"You  have  saved  thousands  of  our  fellow- 
countrymen  the  need  of  going  to  the  East — you 
have  brought  the  East  to  them,  my  dear  Byron," 
said  Lord  Sligo.  "When  I  used  to  see  you 
scribbling  on  the  backs  of  letters — on  the  blank 
pages  of  books — on  every  scrap  of  paper  you  could 
get  hold  of,  how  little  did  I  think  that  when 
brought  together  those  scraps  would  become  one 
of  the  greatest  poems  in  the  language!" 

"  You  knew  as  much  about  it  as  I  did,"  laughed 
Byron.  "  I  thought  nothing  of  Childe  Harold.  It 
was  to  a  satire — an  imitation  of  Horace's  Art  of 
Poetry — that  I  pinned  my  faith.  I  took  trouble 
with  it,  but  none  with  the  other.  I  said  to 
someone  the  other  day  that  I  awoke  one  morning 
and  found  myself  famous.  That  was  the  exact 
truth.  I  thought  nothing  of  Childe  Harold,  and  I 
thought  very  little  of  the  judgment  of  Dallas  and 
the  rest  of  them  who  advised  its  publication. 
Never  mind,  the  public  took  it.  Let  us  talk 
about  something  else." 

"Not  until  I  ask  you  one  question:  why  did 
you  not  tell  in  the  course  of  the  Pilgrimage  the 
story  of  the  girl  at  Athens  whom  you  saved  from 
death?"  said  Lord  Sligo. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that  matter — you 
were  not  with  us?"  said  Byron. 

"  No ;  but  I  heard  something  of  it  when  I  went 
to  Athens  a  few  days  later,"  replied  the  other. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  323 

"  Most  likely  what  you  heard  was  fiction.  There 
was  really  not  much  in  the  occurrence.  The 
Turkish  governor  had  the  girl  sewn  up  in  a  sack, 
and  as  I  was  returning  from  a  swim  in  the  Piraeus, 
I  met  the  procession  with  the  sack  on  their  way 
to  deep  water,  and  did  a  little  braggadocio  — 
flourishing  a  pistol  and  so  forth — and  prevented 
the  rascals  from  carrying  out  the  sack  and  their 
design — that  is  really  all." 

"But  you  bribed  the  governor,  did  you  not? 
and  got  him  to  rescind  the  sentence  upon  the  girl?" 

"Yes;  that  followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 
The  girl  was  sent  off  in  safety  to  Thebes." 

"That  I  heard,  too.  I  expected  to  find  the 
story  in  full  in  the  Pilgrimage,  and  was  greatly 
disappointed  when  I  learned  that  you  had  omitted 
it." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Sligo,  I  had  no  mind  to  set  my- 
self up  as  the  hero  of  an  Oriental  romance." 

"You  took  good  care  to  set  out  Childe  Harold 
in  anything  but  an  heroic  light ;  you  might  have 
given  him  a  chance  of  recovering  himself.  I  can- 
not understand  why  you  refrained.  The  story 
would  make  a  fine  romantic  poem  as  it  is." 

Byron  mused  for  some  moments. 

"Perhaps — who  knows? — I  might — no,  no;  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  write  no  more  in  this 
strain — and  yet — well,  I  may  see  my  way  to 
scribble  something  after  the  style  of  Scott.  But 
what  are  your  plans  ?  I  heard  that  you  intended 
going  abroad  again  soon." 


324  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  In  the  course  of  a  week  or  two.  I  would  that 
you  were  to  be  of  our  party." 

"I  would  that  I  had  never  returned.  Within 
the  past  week  I  have  been  consumed  with  a  long- 
ing to  be  among  the  islands  once  more.  If  you 
had  asked  me  then,  I  believe  that  I  should  have 
jumped  at  your  offer." 

"What,  does  the  errant  Childe  feel  the  fulness 
of  satiety  in  the  matter  of  fame?  or  is  it  that 
there  is  one  particular 

"You  will  dine  with  me.  I  have  not  had  a 
dinner  for  four  days,  and  I  did  not  mean  to  have 
one  until  Friday,  when  I  go  to  Rogers 's ;  but  the 
sight  of  you  has  given  me  an  appetite  that  is  not 
to  be  controlled." 

It  so  happened  that  Lord  Sligo  was  without  an 
engagement.  Byron  was  not;  he  was  due  at 
Melbourne  House  to  accompany  Lady  Caroline  to 
some  entertainment  at  night;  he  ignored  his 
obligation  in  this  direction,  however, — he  was 
only  too  glad  of  the  opportunity  afforded  him  by 
Lord  Sligo 's  coming  to  see  him, — and  they  set  out 
together  for  the  quietest  club,  where  they  might 
dine  and  have  their  chat,  revolving  many  memo- 
ries of  their  days  in  the  East. 

It  was  close  upon  midnight  when  Byron  re- 
turned to  his  rooms.  He  went  to  the  window  of 
his  sitting-room  and  opened  it  to  the  top.  He 
was  warm  and  his  brain  was  excited  by  the  recol- 
lections which  his  night  with  Lord  Sligo  had 
brought  back.  He  looked  out  upon  the  silent 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  325 

street,  with  the  lamps  faintly  flickering  into  the 
distance,  and  he  seemed  to  be  looking  down  the 
Piraeus  upon  one  of  those  still  nights  which  he  had 
been  recalling  with  his  friend. 

Lord  Sligo  had  kept  harping  upon  that  adven- 
ture with  the  girl  who  had  been  saved  from 
drowning.  Byron  had  not  thought  much  about 
it  at  the  time ;  but,  now,  when  the  lapse  of  years 
had  thrown  about  it  a  garment  of  mist  through 
which  its  body  gleamed, — he  was  thinking  of  the 
girl  when  she  stood  forth  in  her  light  garments  in 
the  palace  of  the  governor, — he  was  strangely 
attracted  to  it.  Why  had  he  not  written  before 
of  that  incident?  How  had  it  been  possible  for 
him  to  neglect  it  for  so  long?  His  imagination 
was  now  awake  as  it  had  not  been  for  years.  He 
saw  the  beautiful  girl — he  saw  her  lover — their 
meeting — their  parting — their  devotion — scene 
after  scene  came  before  him — scene  crowded  out 
scene,  with  the  splashing  of  the  blue  waters,  with 
the  waving  of  the  palms,  with  the  sunlight  among 
the  clusters  of  the  clambering  grapes — the  goats 
among  the  rocks — the  convent  white  on  the  hill- 
side— scene  after  scene. 

And  then,  still  standing  at  the  window,  he 
gasped.  Who  had  told  him  the  story  of  that 
girl  and  her  lover  as  he  had  just  seen  it?  When 
he  had  been  at  the  table  with  Lord  Sligo,  he  knew 
no  more  of  her  story  than  he  had  learned  when 
he  interposed  on  her  behalf;  and  yet  now  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  known  her  story  all 


326  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

his  life.  And  the  man — but  he  had  never  seen 
the  man — the  man  was  there,  too — on  horseback 
on  the  hill  with  the  sunlight  laughing  around  him 
— gloom  only  on  his  face. 

His  imagination  was  alight.  He  flung  himself 
into  a  chair,  just  as  he  had  done  on  that  first 
morning  at  Annesley  Hall,  and  dipped  his  pen  in 
the  ink.  Across  the  darkness  of  the  night  that 
the  square  of  his  window  framed  there  came  a 
picture  of  sunlight  and  colour — transparent — 
crystalline — glowing.  He  saw  it  and  wrote : 

Fair  clime  where  ceaseless  summer  smiles 

Benignant  o'er  those  blessed  isles 

Which,  seen  from  far  Colonna's  height, 

Make  glad  the  heart  that  hails  the  sight, 

And  give  to  loneliness  delight, 

There  shine  the  bright  abodes  ye  seek, 

Like  dimples  upon  Ocean's  cheek — 

So  smiling  round  the  waters  lave 

Those  Edens  of  the  Eastern  wave ; 

Or  if  at  times  the  transient  breeze 

Break  the  smooth  crystal  of  the  seas, 

Or  brush  one  blossom  from  the  trees, 

How  grateful  is  the  gentle  air 

That  makes  and  wafts  the  fragrance  there. 

He  remained  writing  hour  after  hour,  throwing 
sheet  after  sheet  on  the  carpet.  His  candles 
burnt  down  to  their  sockets,  the  early  dawn  hung 
a  curtain  of  dove-grey  across  his  window,  a  ray  of 
sunshine  found  its  way  between  the  houses  across 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  327 

the  street  and  fell  upon  his  table  like  the  scimitar 
of  the  Giaour  of  whom  he  had  written ;  the  early 
sounds  of  the  street  began,  the  early  sounds  of 
the  house,  and  still  he  went  on — sheet  after  sheet 
of  paper  was  covered  with  those  wild  verses  in 
which  he  depicted  as  no  poet  had  done  before — as 
no  poet  has  done  since — the  romance,  the  pas- 
sions of  the  East,  the  mystery,  the  blaze  of  sun- 
shine, the  bursts  of  gloom — warm,  lurid  fragments 
— a  story  told  by  suggestion — a  nightingale's  song 
mingling  with  the  ringing  of  the  vesper  bell  in  the 
monastery  on  the  hill  that  Homer  had  known. 
That  is  The  Giaour. 

The  morning  was  far  advanced  before  the  pen 
fell  from  his  fingers,  and  it  was  almost  noon  be- 
fore he  fell  asleep  on  his  bed. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HE  did  not  leave  the  house  all  that  day,  but 
he  did  not  add  a  line  to  the  fragments 
which  he  gathered  up  from  the  carpet  of  his  room 
and  put  away  in  his  desk.  He  laughed  as  he 
thought  of  that  curious  frenzy  that  had  taken 
possession  of  him  under  the  influence  of  the 
memories  which  had  been  brought  back  to  him 
by  the  night  spent  with  the  friend  who  had  trav- 
elled with  him  for  some  days.  He  thought  of 
what  Lady  Melbourne  had  said  to  him — that  the 
decision  to  which  he  had  come  respecting  his 
writing  was  a  vain  one — that  the  decision  did  not 
rest  with  him — that  his  destiny  as  a  poet  was  not 
in  his  own  hands.  Miss  Milbanke  had  said  some- 
thing also  to  the  same  effect.  He  wondered  how 
these  women  knew. 

But  they  did  know  while  he  remained  in  ig- 
norance, believing  that  it  was  in  his  power  to 
write  when  he  pleased,  and  to  abandon  writing 
when  he  made  a  resolution  to  do  so.  But  he  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  when  he  re- 
flected that  he  had  at  least  been  able  to  keep  the 
promise  which  he  had  made  to  Miss  Milbanke. 
He  knew  that  he  had  written  no  line  in  the  strain 
which  pervaded  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage. 

328 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  329 

He  continued  thinking  about  Miss  Milbanke  for 
some  time,  contrasting  her  pretty  earnestness  in 
talking  to  him,  both  at  Melbourne  House  and  at 
the  Hollands'  reception,  with  the  habitual  arti- 
ficiality of  her  cousin.  It  was  because  he  had 
been  impressed  by  her  earnestness  in  hoping  to 
bring  about  his  reformation — her  earnestness  with- 
out that  strident  quality  of  which  he  had  had 
experience,  for  other  young  women  had  attempted 
to  reform  him — that  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  prevent  Caroline  from  turning  upon  her  at 
Holland  House.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded. He  had  not  yet  met  a  girl  in  London 
who  seemed  to  him  to  possess  such  agreeable 
qualities  as  this  little  Miss  Milbanke — Belle  Mil- 
banke her  friends  called  her.  He  felt  that  he  was 
better  even  for  the  thinking  about  her,  and  so  he 
continued  thinking  about  her  in  order  that  her 
object  should  be  the  nearer  to  accomplishment: 
in  time  she  might  be  able  to  pronounce  his  reforma- 
tion completed,  and  surely  the  process  was  one 
that  he  should  account  the  simplest  as  well  as  the 
most  agreeable. 

He  got  a  letter  from  Lady  Caroline  the  same 
evening,  in  which  she  reproached  him  with  vehem- 
ence for  having  failed  her  the  day  before.  He 
had  tired  of  her — she  could  not  doubt,  she  said, 
that  he  had  tired  of  her.  Or  had  Miss  Prudence 
Prim  poisoned  his  mind  against  her?  Miss  Prim, 
she  could  assure  him,  had  a  tongue  that  jealousy 
never  failed  to  loosen.  Her  family  knew  this 


33°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

well,  having  had  experience  of  her.  She  wore  the 
colours  of  the  doves,  and  thus  the  unsuspecting 
could  scarcely  be  brought  to  believe  that  her 
nature  was  more  akin  to  that  of  the  mischievous 
magpie  or  the  chattering  chough. 

Byron  laughed  when  he  came  to  this  passage. 
The  rest  of  the  letter  was  one  hysterical  outburst 
on  the  possibility  that  occurred  to  her  of  his  being 
ill  and  unable  to  leave  his  rooms.  If  so,  he  had 
only  to  send  her  a  message  and  she  would  hurry 
to  his  side — she  would  be  his  nurse — she  would 
bring  her  Byron  back  to  health  or  else  die  with 
him,  for  what  would  life  be  worth  to  her? — and  so 
forth. 

"  But  you  will  come  to  me  to-morrow  and  re- 
lieve the  suspense  of  your  Caroline,"  she  added  on 
the  last  page.  "Come  to  me;  for  I  have  some- 
thing of  infinite  importance  to  both  of  us,  nay, 
to  all  the  world,  to  whisper  in  your  ear.  Our 
names  are  to  be  associated  in  a  way  that  will 
cause  the  curious  to  be  still  more  curious,  and  the 
spiteful  to  be  still  more  malicious.  But  the  occa- 
sion will  be  so  stupendous  and  the  triumph  so 
huge  that  every  voice  of  detraction  shall  be 
hushed. 

"Come  to  me,  my  Childe  Harold,  and  I  shall 
whisper  everything  in  thine  ear." 

He  laughed  again  at  these  mysterious  sugges- 
tions. He  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  never 
give  her  the  chance  of  whispering  anything  into 
his  ear.  Her  secret,  if  it  existed  at  all,  would 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  331 

remain  hidden  for  ever  if  it  could  only  be  revealed 
to  him  in  a  whisper. 

He  felt  less  afraid  of  her  now  than  he  had  felt 
before.  He  had  been  thinking  of  Belle  Milbanke 
and  the  ^gean.  Somehow  in  his  mind  the  two 
seemed  to  be  connected — seemed  to  convey  to 
him  the  one  impression,  and  that  was  of  a  gra- 
cious calm  retreat,  where  he  should  be  safe  from 
the  fury  of  the  tempest — safe  out  of  hearing  of  the 
rude  noise  of  the  world. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  reading  the  letter 
when  his  man  announced  Lady  Melbourne.  In 
spite  of  his  accession  of  courage  he  found  him- 
self glancing  with  some  trepidation  at  the  door, 
after  her  ladyship  had  entered.  He  was  relieved 
to  find  that  she  came  alone;  and  he  greeted  her 
all  the  more  warmly  on  this  account. 

But  she  was  an  acute  observer;  she  had  seen 
his  glance  and  she  knew  exactly  what  it  meant. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  dear  Byron,  I  am  quite  alone," 
she  said.  "No  one  suspects  that  I  am  here." 

"You  are  not  the  less  welcome,  my  dear  lady," 
said  Byron.  "  I  am  sure  that  you  will  believe  that, 
although  you  have  not  seen  me  for  some  days." 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  we  have  not  seen  you  for 
some  days — you  will  not  accuse  me  of  a  want  of 
hospitality  for  saying  so,"  she  said.  "I  have 
noticed  with  feelings  of  the  greatest  satisfaction 
that  you  have  been  neglecting  us." 

He  laughed  so  easily  that  his  uneasiness  was 
at  once  apparent. 


33 2  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"The  truth  is,  Lady  Melbourne,  that — that — 
well,  my  friend  Sligo  came  to  me,  and  I  was  car- 
ried away  by  the  memories  of  the  old  days — we 
were  together  in  the  East,  you  know,"  he  said, 
beginning  very  glibly,  but  being  a  good  deal  less 
fluent  toward  the  close  of  his  excuse  for  excusing 
himself. 

"  I  do  not  flatter  myself  that  anything  I  said 
to  you  a  few  days  ago  would  influence  you  im- 
mediately, but  I  am  sure  that  you  feel  that  I  did 
not  speak  at  random,"  said  Lady  Melbourne. 

"  You  spoke  truly — faithfully — honestly,  and  it 
is  impossible  that  I  should  ever  forget  your 
words,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  and  kissing 
it. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  such  is  your  feeling,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about 
you  and  your  future  since  we  had  our  little  chat 
together ;  I  have  been  thinking  most  of  what  you 
said  regarding  the  longing  you  had  for  a  home — 
the  home  that  you  have  never  known.  The  re- 
sult of  my  thinking  over  the  matter  was  that  I 
asked  myself  the  question,  'Why  should  Byron 
not  start  a  home  of  his  own,  and  subject  himself 
to  its  sweet  influences  instead  of  being  dependent 
upon  glimpses  of  the  domesticity  which  he  loves 
through  other  people's  doors? '  Seeing  only  the 
homes  of  strangers  is  as  unsatisfactory  as  looking 
at  happiness  through  another's  eyes." 

"I  follow  you — I  agree  with  you,"  said  Byron. 
"  Please  go  on — tell  me  that  you  have  found  some 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  333 

one — that  is  not  a  home  which  has  only  a  man 
at  the  head  of  it." 

"  Of  course  it  is  not.  As  to  the — the  important 
'someone,'  I  am  not  so  ready  to  speak.  I  am  no 
believer  in  match-making.  I  have  seen  as  much 
of  life  as  convinces  me  that  a  maker  of  matches 
is  frequently  a  maker  of  mischief.  At  the  same- 
time  I  believe  that  it  is  in  a  woman's  power  some 
times  to  turn  a  man's  thoughts  in  a  right  direction 
— the  direction  in  which  happiness — not  his  happi- 
ness merely — not  her  happiness  merely — but  hap- 
piness, their  happiness,  may  be  found." 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  After  all,  marriage  is  to  be 
happy  but  in  the  potential  mood — it  is  happiness 
that  may  be." 

"Quite  so;  everyone  that  talks  about  certain 
happiness  is  one  who  knows  little  of  life.  Now, 
the  young  woman  whose  name  I  would  venture 
to  whisper  in  your  ear  is  Belle  Milbanke,  my  niece. 
What,  you  are  not  overwhelmed  with  surprise? 
Is  it  possible  that — 

"  I  have  been  thinking  more  of  her  during  the 
past  few  days  than  I  have  ever  thought  about  a 
girl  in  all  my  life.  She  charmed  me  when  she 
came  to  lecture  me  at  Melbourne  House.  I  was 
only  sorry  that 

"That  Caroline  should  behave  like  a  fool  upon 
that  occasion?  That  is  what  you  think;  but  it 
was  really  of  no  consequence.  Belle  knows  Caro- 
line too  well  to  be  surprised  at  anything  she  may 
do.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  she  felt  surprised 


334  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

upon  that  occasion.  You  it  was  who  surprised 
her.  She  has  always  been  a  girl  who  has  taken 
the  serious  things  of  life  seriously ;  about  the  less 
important  matters  she  has  been  pretty  much  as 
other  girls." 

"  She  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  one  of 
the  serious  things?" 

"  That  was  why  she  set  out  to  lecture  you.  She 
has  a  sense  of  duty." 

"  I  knew  from  the  first  that  she  was  different 
from  most  other  girls.  Well,  she  lectured  me  and 
she  prevailed." 

"  That  is  why  she  was  surprised.  She  quite  ex- 
pected that  you  would  be  tough — very  tough, — if 
you  condescended  to  listen  to  her  at  all.  She  was 
convinced  that  she  would  have  to  stand  against 
a  battery  of  your  sarcasm,  and  yet  so  strongly  she 
felt  that  it  was  her  duty  to  endeavour  to  lead  you 
into  the  right  path,  she  braved  all — even  Caroline 
— to  go  into  your  presence  to  convert  you  as  Mr. 
Wesley  did  the  miners.  She  came  back  to  the 
drawing-room  breathless  with  surprise  and  de- 
light. And  then  you  had  a  long  talk  with  her  at 
the  Hollands'.  Now,  all  I  wish  to  say  to  you  at 
this  time  is  that  Belle  Milbanke  is  a  thoroughly 
good  girl,  of  good  family,  and  with  a  good  mind, 
and  that  she  is  greatly  impressed  by  you.  To 
say  anything  more  would  be  to  compromise  my- 
self as  a  match-maker." 

"  You  need  only  have  said  one  thing  to  encour- 
age me,  if  you  meant  to  encourage  me,  and  that 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  335 

is  that  Miss  Milbanke  is  Lady  Melbourne's  niece," 
said  Byron.  "  There  is  no  man  living  who  would 
not  be  more  impressed  by  a  knowledge  of  that 
relationship  than  by  any  other  fact  regarding  a 
young  lady.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  have  been 
thinking  of  Miss  Milbanke  since  I  met  her,  and 
that  the  more  I  think  of  her  the  better  I  like  her. 
But  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  her  thinking  about 
me  would  have  the  same  tendency.  I  have  an 
intuition  that  she  still  thinks  me  a  fearful  repro- 
bate, if  not  an  actual  atheist." 

"That  may  be,"  acquiesced  Lady  Melbourne, 
cheerfully.  "  But  if  you  believe  that  any  girl  ever 
saved  herself  from  falling  in  love  with  a  man  be- 
cause she  knew  he  had  been  even  a  reprobate — 
which,  by  the  way,  you  never  were — or  an  atheist 
— which  you  could  not  be,  however  greatly  you 
might  wish  to  be — you  make  a  mistake  that  a 
little  experience  of  life  and  young  women  should 
correct.  The  reform  of  the  profligate  is  the  secret 
ambition  of  every  young  woman  who  has  serious 
notions.  Now,  I  have  nothing  further  to  say  on 
this  subject.  All  that  I  meant  by  coming  to  you 
at  this  time  was  to  lead  you  to  think  about  Belle 
Milbanke,  and  it  appears  that  there  was  no  need 
for  me  to  come  to  you  for  this.  Thus,  you  see, 
I  hasten  to  relieve  myself  of  any  responsibility  in 
this  matter.  The  conclusion  is  with  heaven, 
where,  as  we  are  told,  marriages  are  made." 

She  went  away  immediately.  Byron  made  no 
attempt  to  detain  her,  because  he  saw  that  she 


336  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

did  not  wish  to  say  another  word  beyond  that 
which  she  had  said  to  him  at  parting.  She  was 
a  woman  who  knew  exactly  how  much  to  say — 
yes,  to  a  word ;  and  of  this  fact  he  was  well  aware. 
She  could  convey  an  exact  shade  of  meaning  by 
her  words,  simply  because  she  knew  when  to  stop. 

She  left  Byron  sitting  thoughtfully  in  his  chair. 
But  after  an  hour's  thoughtfulness  he  had  ad- 
vanced no  further  than  he  had  reached  before, 
when  he  had  found  that  in  dreaming  of  Belle 
Milbanke  and  that  peaceful  "  Eden  of  the  Eastern 
wave,"  his  thoughts  had  not  strayed  from  the 
subject  which  he  had  been  considering  for  some 
time. 

It  was  on  the  evening  following  that  he  dined 
with  Rogers  at  his  house,  the  windows  of  which 
looked  out  upon  Green  Park.  Moore  and  Sheridan 
were  his  fellow-guests,  and  as  Byron  was  giving 
himself  a  day  or  two  of  freedom  in  the  matter  of 
regimen,  no  longer  confining  himself  to  biscuits 
and  soda-water,  the  evening  was  a  merry  one. 
Byron  and  Moore  joked  after  the  manner  of 
irresponsible  schoolboys,  the  former  being  in  par- 
ticularly high  spirits.  Sheridan,  too,  was  at  his 
best,  telling  anecdote  after  anecdote  from  his  own 
experience,  from  the  incidents  on  the  night  of  the 
first  performance  of  The  School  for  Scandal,  when 
he  had  been  so  overcome  with  delight  that  he  was 
apprehended  in  the  street  and  locked  up  by  the 
watch  until  the  morning,  down  to  his  little  acci- 
dent of  the  previous  week  when,  on  being  found 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  337 

in  difficulties  by  the  same  authority,  and  his  name 
being  demanded,  he  had  said  "  Wilberforce." 
Sheridan  was  an  inexhaustible  storehouse  of  memo- 
ries, and  when  his  memory  failed  him  his  imagina- 
tion came  to  his  rescue,  so  that  no  story  of  his 
ever  lacked  a  legitimate  and  witty  conclusion. 
He  was  the  most  conscientious  of  raconteurs, 
placing  the  entertainment  of  his  hearers  before 
all  considerations  of  accuracy. 

It  was  rather  annoying  that  his  story  of  the 
Regent  and  his  jockey  should  be  interrupted  by 
the  sounds  of  an  altercation  just  outside  the  win- 
dows of  the  dining-room  in  Green  Park.  There 
was  a  noise  of  female  voices,  speaking  together, 
but  not  in  unison — shrill — clamant — strident — 
denunciatory. 

"  I  cannot  hope  to  compete  with  that  enter- 
tainment," said  Sheridan.  "Friend  Rogers,  you 
should  make  your  serenaders  sing  more  piano. 
But  all  vocalists  are,  I  know,  apt  to  get  out  of 
hand." 

Moore  swore  under  his  breath  at  the  interrup- 
tion, and  Rogers,  after  waiting  for  a  minute  in 
the  hope  that  the  altercation  would  drift  across 
the  Park,  went  to  one  of  the  windows  and  threw 
it  open,  his  intention  being  to  instruct  the  watch- 
man to  send  the  belligerents  farther  afield. 

The  instant  he  opened  the  window  one,  at 
least,  of  the  voices  became  audible  to  his  party. 
The  lisp  of  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  even  when  her 
voice  was  pitched  in  a  high  key,  was  unmistak- 


338  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

able.  The  less  ardent  voice  Byron  knew  to  be- 
long to  another  lady,  well  known  in  ministerial 
circles,  from  whom  he  had  received  some  letters 
expressive  of  her  admiration  for  his  genius.  He 
had  visited  her,  but  not  for  some  months.  There 
stood  the  two  women  face  to  face,  the  greasy 
light  from  one  of  the  lamps  of  the  Park  flickering 
over  their  faces  and  finding  a  marvellous  response 
in  the  diamonds  of  their  hair, — there  they  stood, 
clamouring  at  one  another  like  two  fishwives, 
although  their  carriages  and  footmen  were  only 
a  short  distance  away  in  the  thoroughfare,  and 
the  crowd  of  a  London  street  at  midnight  had 
begun  to  collect  about  them,  offering  a  word  of 
encouragement  every  now  and  again  to  the  one 
or  the  other  of  the  ladies. 

Only  a  few  seconds  had  elapsed  after  the  window 
was  opened  before  the  casus  belli  was  revealed  by 
the  threats  on  the  one  hand,  the  defence  on  the 
other,  with  hints,  by  no  means  darkly  veiled,  of 
frustrated  guilt  on  the  part  of  the  former. 

"I  know  that  you  look  for  his  coming:  you 
believe  that  you  have  him  as  firmly  in  your  claws 
as  you  had  poor  - 

'  'T  is  not  my  carriage  that  has  been  stopping 
the  way  for  the  past  hour,  madam;  take  my  ad- 
vice and  give  your  unfortunate  husband  an 
hour " 

"Contemptible  hussy!  If  I  want  to  know  the 
direct  path  to  perdition  I  will  come  to  you  for 
advice,  but  till  then " 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  339 

"  That  is  the  only  path  on  which  you  have  kept 
straight — that  is  Lord  Byron's  judgment,  not 
mine;  I  had  it  from  him  last  week." 

'  'T  is  no  wonder  that  he  talked  to  me  of  your 
ladyship  as  an  overripe  meddler,  if  you  shriek  out 
his  confidences  through  the  parks.  'T  would  suit 
your  age  better  if  you  were  to " 

The  voices  crashed  together  in  mid-air  and 
broke  into  shrill  fragments,  whereupon  the  crowd 
cheered  and  jeered. 

"Two  of  Lord  Byron's  admirers — privateers 
with  all  sail  set — silk  and  muslin  and  pennons  fly- 
ing— have  met  in  trying  to  meet  him  and  convoy 
him  to  some  of  their  routs.  They  are  firing 
broadsides — red  hot,  like  his  lordship's  poetry," 
was  the  explanation  that  an  elderly  naval  man 
gave  to  someone  who  made  an  inquiry  in  passing 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  altercation. 

Every  word  reached  the  ears  of  all  within 
Rogers 's  dining-room,  until  hurried  steps  were 
heard  in  the  street,  and  there  was  a  cry  of  "  The 
watch — the  watch  at  last."  The  crowd  broke; 
the  watch  remonstrated,  the  voices — still  vitupera- 
tive—  dwindled  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
carriages. 

Sheridan  was  too  wise  to  make  the  attempt  to 
conclude  his  story  that  had  been  interrupted  so 
rudely.  He  began  another,  although  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  the  depression  which  had  crept 
over  the  party  from  the  misty  Park  outside  was 
not  such  as  could  be  dispelled  by  his  wit.  He 


34°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

was  anxious,  however,  to  do  his  best  for  Rogers 
as  well  as  Byron.  His  fresh  story  was  like  a  lamp 
newly  lit  in  a  mist.  It  illuminated  without  dis- 
pelling the  vapour. 

Byron  alone  of  the  little  party  laughed  boister- 
ously at  the  point  of  the  narrative.  For  the  next 
hour  he  talked  almost  incessantly,  and  never  more 
wittily.  He  might  have  been  successful  in  plac- 
ing all  the  party  at  their  ease  if  everyone  had  not 
felt  that  he  was  making  a  great  effort  to  appear 
at  his.  His  merriment  was  more  depressing  than 
his  silence  would  have  been.  When  Sheridan 
rose  at  last  and  said  that  he  had  an  engagement 
for  the  morning  which  it  was  necessary  for  him, 
departing  from  his  usual  custom,  to  keep,  so  that 
he  was  forced  to  leave  the  table,  everyone  felt 
relieved,  though  they  all  knew  with  what  a  pang 
it  was  that  Sheridan  forsook  the  superb  claret  of 
Rogers 's  cellar. 

Byron  and  Moore  drove  off  together  in  silence 
and  it  was  not  until  the  carriage  was  at  St. 
James's  Street  that  the  former  said, 

"  This  is  the  last  of  our  roystering  together,  my 
friend — at  least  for  some  time." 

"  I  need  not  ask  you  when  you  made  up  your 
mind  to  this,"  said  Moore,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  need  not.  You  heard  the  way  my  name 
was  tossed  into  the  gutter.  You  heard  the  yell 
of  laughter  that  came  from  the  scum  of  the  street 
when  my  name  was  mentioned.  I  do  not  care 
to  run  the  chance  of  a  repetition  of  that  scene. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  341 

The  truth  is  that  I  have  been — but  I  need  not 
confess  to  you ;  numbers  of  our  friends  have  con- 
fided in  you  their  unalterable  belief  in  my  faculty 
for  folly,  and  now  I  admit  that  I  have  been  what 
they  said  I  was — a  fool,  with  no  redeeming  fea- 
ture for  my  folly.  But  it  is  over." 

"  Whither  are  you  going? " 

"  Heaven  knows !  and  perhaps  another  power — 
one  of  equal  potency,  I  am  beginning  to  think. 
But  I  shall  leave  London  and,  possibly,  England." 

"At  any  rate  you  will  keep  me  informed  as  to 
your  movements  and  I  may  be  able  to  give  you 
some  of  the  gossip  of  the  town." 

"  I  don't  greatly  care  to  hear  anything.  I  feel 
just  now  that  I  have  had  enough  of  the  town 
to  last  me  for  some  time.  Here  we  are  at  my 
door.  My  benediction  go  with  thee,  Thomas  the 
Rimer.  'When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds 
relate,  nothing  extenuate,  nor  set  down  aught  in 
malice.'  ' 

"You  may  trust  to  me.  I  shall  have  nothing 
to  relate.  There  will  be  a  good  deal  of  talk — 
chatter — women  especially." 

"  I  shall  not  hear  it.     Good-bye  to  you." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted  without  another 
word.  Byron  entered  his  sitting-room  and  lit  the 
candles  on  his  writing  table.  Without  a  pause, 
and  acting  deliberately,  he  took  paper  from  his 
desk  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Miss  Milbanke,  propos- 
ing marriage  to  her  in  the  most  conventional 
way,  and  devoid  of  any  lover-like  pleading.  He 


342  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

addressed  the  letter  and  put  it  into  his  post-bag 
to  be  delivered  in  the  morning. 

He  felt  a  great  relief  at  having  taken  this  step. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  built  a  wall  between  himself 
and  disaster. 

The  next  day  Lady  Caroline  Lamb's  carriage 
stopped  at  his  door,  and  her  ladyship,  on  finding 
the  doors  of  his  rooms  locked,  and  learning  from 
the  caretaker  of  the  house  that  Lord  Byron  had 
gone  away  to  foreign  parts,  failed  to  retain  con- 
trol over  her  feelings.  She  flung  herself  wildly 
against  the  locked  doors,  shrieking  for  her  Byron 
to  come  back  to  her — upbraiding  him  in  unmeas- 
ured terms  for  deserting  his  Caroline — his  Will  o' 
the  Wisp. 

The  footmen  standing  outside  exchanged  glances. 
Thomas  winked.  Charles  put  a  gloved  forefinger 
to  his  nose. 

"She  has  her  tantrums  again,"  muttered  the 
coachman. 

The  caretaker  offered  to  find  her  ladyship  a 
cordial. 


PART  III 
CHAPTER  I 

ALL  the  sweet  scents  of  the  spring  landscape 
floated  about  him.  The  travelling  chaise  in 
which  he  sat  bareheaded  seemed  to  cleave  its 
way  through  the  waves  of  a  sea  of  scent  as  his 
felucca  with  its  sail  set  had  cleft  its  course  through 
the  ripples  of  the  .^Egean.  He  had  all  the  delight 
of  a  traveller  being  borne  through  new  scenes — 
all  the  joy  of  a  traveller  who,  after  long  wandering 
through  a  barren  land,  comes  suddenly  into  the 
very  midst  of  a  place  of  verdure,  of  waving  grass 
underfoot  and  the  tenderness  of  half -opened  buds 
overhead.  The  beautiful  English  landscape  closed 
its  arms  upon  him,  clasping  him  in  a  mother's 
embrace. 

There  had  been  a  shower  in  the  early  May 
morning,  and  the  sunshine  had  been  so  fitful  that 
the  roads  were  not  quite  dry;  here  and  there  a 
pool  of  water  was  glistening,  and  every  pool  was 
a  mirror  to  the  faint  blue  of  the  sky;  he  saw  its 
sheen  as  the  chaise  swept  past;  and  the  thrush 
and  the  blackbird  whose  bath  had  been  disturbed, 
fled,  uttering  a  note  before  they  disappeared  into 

343 


344  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  emerald  tracery  of  the  hedgerow.  The  rap- 
ture of  a  lark's  song  shivered  and  quivered  from 
the  sky;  and  when  one  song  dwindled  away  in 
the  distance,  another  began  a  short  way  ahead, 
waxing  louder  and  louder  as  the  chaise  went  on, 
and  then  waning  into  a  sweet  thinness.  A  musi- 
cal chain  of  song  was  being  woven  in  the  air 
above  those  lovely  slopes,  and  no  link  was  broken 
by  silence. 

" '  That  strain  again,'  "  said  the  poet. 

"  '  That  strain  again!     It  had  a  dying  fall. 
Oh,  it  came  o'er  my  soul  like  the  sweet  air 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odours.'  " 

There  was  an  unbroken  chain  of  sweet  sounds 
that  seemed  nearer  the  heaven  than  the  earth, 
and  there  was  an  unbroken  chain  of  sweet  scents 
that  seemed  swinging  in  the  tender  air,  just  above 
the  surface  of  the  grass. 

The  white  butterflies  danced  above  the  wild 
flowers  of  the  lanes,  the  small  bees  went  in  zigzag 
curves  from  one  cluster  of  shy  bluebells  into  the 
luscious  depths  of  the  foxgloves  and  Canterbury 
bells,  sipping  sweets  and  swinging,  ringing  a  fairy 
chime  that  only  the  poet's  ear  could  hear.  And 
then  came  the  pink  of  an  almond  tree  standing 
alone  at  the  side  of  a  cottage,  the  white  of  a  haw- 
thorn— a  billowy  snowdrift  suspended  in  the  air 
or  else  a  fleecy  cloud  under  the  blue  sky.  The 
green  pastures  were  full  of  fleeces,  the  young 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  345 

lambs  trotting  weak-kneed  up  to  the  ewes  and 
turning  to  gaze  with  them  at  the  chaise.  Beside 
the  little  stream  the  large  cattle  lay  lazily  chew- 
ing the  cud.  The  broad  green  of  the  pasturage 
spread  side  by  side  with  the  rich  brown  of  the 
freshly  ploughed  fields,  not  flat,  but  sweeping  up 
the  gentle  slope,  the  furrows  like  the  waves  of  an 
even  sea  that  only  broke  along  the  ridge  of  the 
hill  in  a  fringe  of  foam  where  the  white  clouds 
had  drifted  and  curled  away  from  the  sun.  But 
all  the  clouds  of  the  sky  were  not  there ;  now  and 
again  a  shadow  would  sail  across  green  meadow- 
land  and  brown  field,  sweeping  over  the  plough- 
ing teams,  and  the  solitary  figures  of  the  sowers 
with  the  swinging  hands,  on  to  the  swinging 
arms  of  the  windmill.  From  the  copse,  where  a 
lane  joined  the  high  road,  came  the  notes  of  a 
cuckoo. 

Byron  lay  back  upon  the  cushions  of  his  chaise, 
tasting  of  the  sweetness  of  the  English  spring — 
nothing  of  the  charm  of  the  soft  tints  of  the 
gracious  time,  of  the  notes  of  the  birds,  of  the  per- 
fume that  saturated  the  air  was  lost  upon  him, 
and  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  part  of  that  spirit  of 
the  spring  which  was  passing  over  the  land, 
leaving  flowers  where  its  unsandalled  feet  had 
touched  the  earth  and  opening  the  blossoms  that 
it  breathed  upon.  He  felt  all  the  calm  delight  of 
the  hour,  and  he  was  glad  that  he  had  not  carried 
out  his  intention  of  going  to  the  East,  but  had 
spent  the  months  of  his  absence  from  London  in 


346  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  west  of  England.  He  had  been  a  welcome 
guest  at  the  houses  of  many  friends,  and  he 
scarcely  felt  even  mortified  to  receive  a  letter 
from  Miss  Milbanke  rejecting  for  the  present  his 
offer  of  marriage,  but  expressing  the  hope  that 
she  might  be  permitted  to  exchange  letters  with 
him  from  time  to  time.  In  the  course  of  the  next 
few  months  he  came  to  hear  that  she  had  refused 
two  other  proposals  made  to  her  by  men  each  of 
whom  was  a  much  more  eligible  suitor  than  he. 

And  then  the  poem  which  he  had  begun  to 
write  on  the  evening  he  had  spent  in  the  com- 
pany of  Lord  Sligo  was  published,  and  the  suc- 
cess of  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage  was  repeated 
in  The  Giaour,  only  more  abundantly.  Edition 
after  edition  was  called  for,  and  with  the  issue  of 
each  came  pages  of  magical  poetry  that  entranced 
all  England  with  their  melody. 

Of  course,  he  received  many  letters  from  the 
woman  from  whom  he  had  fled — letters  reproach- 
ful, full  of  fiery  denunciation,  and  then  melting 
into  wild  tears  on  every  page,  and  all  ending  with 
the  cry,  "Come  back — come  back!"  When 
Drury  Lane  was  opened  and  his  address  spoken 
on  the  stage,  she  clamoured  "  Perfidious ! "  "  False 
wretch!"  She  knew,  she  declared,  that  it  was  he 
and  he  only  who  had  prevented  her  from  being 
the  one  to  speak  the  address:  Mr.  Sheridan  had 
given  her  his  promise  that  hers  was  to  be  the 
first  voice  heard  by  playgoers  on  the  new  stage, 
and  had  Mr.  Sheridan  ever  been  known  to  break 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  347 

an  engagement?  No;  it  was  the  man  whom  she 
had  trusted  so  fondly  that  had  been  false  to  her. 
It  would  be  in  vain  for  him  to  deny  it. 

Byron  made  no  attempt  either  to  acknowledge 
it  or  to  deny  it.  He  laughed,  somewhat  grimly, 
at  the  thought  of  the  possible  interview  which 
she  would  have  with  Mr.  Sheridan.  But  he  was 
not  uneasy  for  Mr.  Sheridan.  He  had  every  con- 
fidence in  that  gentleman's  ability  to  extricate 
himself  from  any  position  in  which  he  might 
find  himself  through  having  been  too  prodigal  of 
his  promises. 

He  replied  to  one  of  her  letters  only,  but  he  did 
it  in  such  a  spirit  as  would,  he  feared,  not  com- 
mend itself  unreservedly  to  Lady  Caroline.  It 
was  the  letter  of  the  good  friend — the  most  un- 
appetising type  of  communication  possible  to  be 
received  by  a  correspondent  who  rhapsodised  of 
passion.  Worst  of  all,  he  told  her  that  his  where- 
abouts would  for  some  time  be  so  uncertain  that 
he  had  instructed  his  caretaker  to  send  all  his 
letters  to  Mr.  John  Murray  of  Albemarle  Street, 
who  would  open  them  all  and  reply  to  such  as 
needed  an  immediate  answer. 

Still  she  showered  her  letters  upon  him,  and  he 
was  forced  to  confess  that  she  reached  a  very 
high  level  as  an  exponent  of  the  aggrieved,  re- 
proachful style  of  composition  in  the  communica- 
tion which  she  sent  to  him  on  the  publication  of 
The  Giaour.  The  poem  was  not  dedicated  to  her 
— that  was  her  plaint.  Surely  her  friendship  for 


348  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

him  demanded  so  simple  an  acknowledgment. 
But  it  was  not  yet  too  late :  a  second  edition  was, 
she  understood,  likely  to  be  called  for,  and  she 
would  be  satisfied  if  this  supplied  an  omission 
for  which,  possibly,  a  printer's  carelessness  was 
responsible. 

Her  next  letter  was  in  quite  another  strain. 

"  I  am  writing  a  novel,"  she  wrote,  "  and  though 
my  name  does  not  appear  in  the  dedication  of  The 
Giaour,  you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  take  care 
that  the  identity  of  my  Hero  will  be  disclosed  on 
every  page.  It  will  be  the  portrait  of  a  Monster, 
not  a  Man,  and  my  readers  shall  know  that  there 
is  only  one  such,  thank  Heaven,  in  England!" 

She  kept  her  threat,  but  when  her  novel  of 
Glenarvon  was  published,  he  was  far  away  from 
England. 

But  even  the  recollection  of  her  threat  did  not 
mar  the  feeling  of  gladness  which  awoke  within 
him  as  his  chaise  passed  through  the  entrance 
gates  at  Newstead  on  that  bright  spring  day,  and 
the  vast  mass  of  the  old  Priory  came  before  his 
eyes. 

It  was  his  own.  That  was  his  first  thought: 
it  was  not  one  of  pride.  He  was  lord  of  a  mag- 
nificent ruin.  He  was  returning  to  a  desolated 
abbey  when  his  heart  was  full  of  longing  for  a 
home.  The  gladness  which  had  come  to  him 
from  driving  through  the  green  landscape  van- 
ished. He  had  never  felt  lonelier  in  all  his  life 
than  he  did  when  the  great  mouldering  gable  of 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  349 

Newstead  came  before  his  eyes.  He  had  won  for 
himself  by  his  genius  a  position  such  as  had  never 
before  been  attained  by  a  writer  of  his  years,  his 
name  was  on  the  lips  of  every  man  and  woman  of 
note  in  the  kingdom,  and  there  he  was  looking 
up  at  the  ruin  and  feeling  as  if  some  satirical 
demon  had  summoned  him  to  see  a  monument 
that  was  standing  to  his  fame — an  imposing  pile 
of  ruins. 

All  that  he  wanted  for  his  own  comfort  was  a 
couple  of  rooms  in  a  cottage,  and  yet  here  he  was, 
doomed  to  the  splendid  inconveniences  of  a  glori- 
ous memorial  of  the  transitory.  It  seemed  as  if 
all  the  ironical  demons  that  have  undertaken  the 
education  of  man  had  been  planning  this  master- 
piece of  construction — this  entrance  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  living  men  into  his  heritage. 

The  place  would  have  been  a  silent  solitude  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  birds  which  gave  the  ivy 
forest  of  the  front  the  appearance  of  being  a 
living,  moving  thing.  There  was  not  an  ivy  leaf 
that  was  not  in  motion  with  the  birds  leaving  or 
returning  to  their  nests.  One  continuous  ripple 
of  life  ran  across  the  ivy — one  continuous  twitter 
rippled  from  the  eaves  to  the  basement.  No  serv- 
ants were  in  sight.  Not  a  human  being  was  to 
be  seen  in  the  grounds  or  on  the  banks  of  the  lake. 
Lord  Byron's  personal  servants,  who  followed  him 
in  a  second  chaise,  had  to  ring  the  hall  door-bell 
before  the  inheritor  could  obtain  admission  to  his 
heritage. 


35°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

The  butler  explained  that  he  had  not  expected 
his  lordship  before  the  evening.  Mr.  Vince  had 
certainly  said  that  it  would  be  evening  before 
his  lordship  could  arrive. 

Happily  his  lordship  was  not  the  ordinary  man 
who  looks  for  a  well-cooked  meal  to  be  ready  at 
whatever  hour  he  may  choose  to  arrive  home. 
Byron  was  content  with  the  most  meagre  fare, 
and  he  would  not  partake  of  it  for  some  hours. 
He  left  the  grumbling  by  reason  of  the  missing 
meal  to  be  done  by  the  servants  who  had  travelled 
with  him.  And  they  did  it.  They  had  none  of 
his  lordship's  foolish  notions  on  the  subject  of 
a  reasonable  regimen.  They  never  got  on  friendly 
terms  with  the  house  staff,  beginning  as  they  did, 
with  empty  reproaches,  and  proceeding  to  com- 
plaints about  the  beef  and  the  choice  of  the  beer. 
But  what  could  be  expected,  they  growled,  of  a 
household  where  his  lordship  could  be  contented 
with  pickled  cabbage  and  soda-water? 

In  the  afternoon  Byron  strolled  away  from  the 
house  to  the  lake,  where  his  eccentric  predecessor 
had  sailed  his  model  frigates,  and  brought  them 
into  action  against  each  other  with  the  discharge 
of  real  carronades.  He  had  his  pocket  full  of 
scraps  of  biscuit  for  the  carp;  and  it  amused 
him  to  recognise  among  the  fish  some  of  his  old 
friends — overgrown  monsters,  tame  and  impu- 
dent, scorning  plain  biscuit  when  they  could  get 
fragments  of  cake. 

But  when  he  had  amused  himself  in  this  way 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  351 

for  some  time,  and  the  carp,  finding  that  they 
could  get  nothing  more  out  of  him,  had  forsaken 
his  part  of  the  pond — they  showed,  he  thought, 
as  much  intelligence  as  if  they  were  men, — he 
seated  himself  on  one  of  the  stone  steps  of  the 
bank  and  began  to  wonder  what  had  brought  him 
to  Newstead — this  house  of  loneliness — this  mag- 
nificent dwelling-place  that  seemed  to  stand  only 
to  be  a  constant  reminder  to  him  that  he  had  no 
home.  He  had  been  happy  enough  going  from 
house  to  house  during  the  winter  and  the  spring, 
and  he  knew  that  he  might  have  continued  his 
roaming  far  into  the  summer  if  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  that  London  was  to  be  closed  to  him. 
He  remembered  that  he  had  been  seized  by  a 
sudden  longing  to  be  alone — a  passion  for  solitude 
which  occasionally  had  taken  possession  of  him 
since  his  Harrow  days. 

It  was  in  the  strength  of  this  yearning  that  he 
had  come  back  to  Newstead,  and  he  had  felt  that 
he  had  done  well,  all  the  time  that  he  was  oc- 
cupied in  the  journey.  He  had  not  felt  lonely 
for  a  moment.  The  pageant  of  early  summer 
was  ever  before  his  eyes.  He  thought  of  those 
days  of  the. season  as  of  an  exquisite  maiden— 
the  maiden  of  the  spring  was  in  the  act  of  looking 
with  wide  blue  eyes  at  all  things  of  the  earth, 
becoming  vaguely  conscious  of  the  womanhood 
of  summer  which  was  beginning  to  make  her 
heart  beat  faster.  The  passionate  heart  of  sum- 
mer had  begun  to  beat  in  the  maiden  bosom  of 


352  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

spring,  and  she  was  still  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  the 
change.  The  poet  had  seen  the  shy  face  peeping 
out  from  the  buds  of  the  trees,  from  the  blossoms 
of  the  thorn  hedgerows — he  had  seen  her  flying 
feet  among  the  primroses,  and  he  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  flying  hair  when  the  sunlight  had 
brought  out  all  the  sweet  scents  of  the  leafage  of 
a  lane,  down  which  he  had  driven  one  warm 
afternoon. 

The  poet  knew  that  this  masque  of  nature 
which  was  played  hourly  before  his  eyes,  with  the 
choruses  chanted  in  the  woodlands,  was  the 
noblest  poem  that  ever  made  the  world  rejoice. 
He  rejoiced  to  witness  it;  it  was  only  when  he 
had  come  to  the  end  of  his  journey  that  he  felt 
the  loneliness  of  being  alone.  He  had  forgotten 
that  he  himself  was  a  part  of  the  season — that 
he  himself  was  a  part  of  the  pageant  that  was 
being  played  in  nature — the  pageant  which  is 
Nature  herself. 

He  lay  back  with  his  hands  clasped  beneath 
his  head,  looking  up  to  the  sky,  and  his  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  morning  when  he  had  lain  down 
on  the  roadside  in  the  dawn,  with  his  eyes  turned 
to  the  heaven,  and  had  awakened  to  look  into 
the  face  of  Mary  Chaworth.  It  was  part  of 
nature's  trickery  for  making  everything  dis- 
satisfied with  loneliness  at  this  season,  that  he 
should  think  of  Mary  Chaworth.  But  he  did 
not  find  that  his  loneliness  was  dispersed  by  his 
thoughts  of  her;  for  his  imagination  led  him  to 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  353 

paint  a  picture  of  Newstead  with  Mary  Chaworth 
waiting  at  the  entrance  to  welcome  him  on  his 
return  to  the  place. 

That  was  what  Newstead  wanted  to  transform 
the  dreariness  of  its  ruin  into  a  home.  What 
fate  was  it  that  had  prevented  his  meeting  her 
until  it  was  too  late?  Whatever  fate  it  was,  he 
still  felt  as  he  had  felt  for  years,  that  it  was  the 
most  evil  accident  of  his  life;  he  knew  that  it 
had  influenced  all  his  life — almost  every  act  of 
his  life. 

His  affection  for  Mary  Chaworth  had  long  ago 
become,  he  thought,  nothing  more  than  a  certain 
tender  memory — a  gracious,  melancholy  memory 
of  youth.  But  he  had  never  taken  his  pen  in  his 
hand  to  put  on  paper  the  music  that  flowed 
through  his  mind,  without  thinking  of  her — 
without  feeling  that  it  was  she  who  had  first 
taught  him  what  it  was  to  be  a  poet.  It  was  not 
until  he  had  looked  up  to  the  blue  heaven  of  her 
eyes  that  the  knowledge  came  to  him  of  what 
was  meant  by  that  unsatisfied  feeling  of  which 
he  had  been  so  frequently  conscious.  She  had 
given  him  the  key  that  had  solved  the  mystery. 

But  she  had  at  the  same  instant  unlocked  for 
him  the  mystery  of  love — the  impulse  of  the 
truest  poetry.  He  had  never  loved  since  he  had 
parted  from  Mary  Chaworth.  He  felt  that  he 
had  worshipped  the  light  that  came  from  the  sun 
itself,  and  he  could  not  bow  his  knee  before  an 
ignis  fatuus.  To  be  sure,  he  had  been  diverted 


354  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

by  many  a  will  o'  the  wisp  before  Lady  Caroline 
Lamb  came  before  him,  but  the  prayer  of  Naaman, 
Captain  of  the  host  of  the  King  of  Syria,  was  ever 
in  his  heart  at  such  times.  The  Shrine  of  Rim- 
mon  had  its  meretricious  charms  for  him,  but 
his  heart  was  ever  in  the  true  Temple. 

He  had  seen  nothing  of  Mary  during  all  the 
years  that  had  passed;  he  had  had  no  desire  to 
see  her.  He  was  quite  satisfied  that  his  love  for 
her  had  become  the  tender  memory  that  it  now 
was;  a  devotional  memory,  not  to  be  spoken  of 
to  any  of  his  intimates. 

He  lay  there  for  an  hour  with  his  hands  clasped 
at  the  back  of  his  head.  He  watched  the  sun 
creep  round  the  wing  of  the  Abbey  so  that  its 
rays  struck  the  flat  surface  of  the  lake,  quivering 
there  like  golden  javelins  flung  against  a  target 
of  bright  steel;  he  watched  a  hare  sitting  quite 
contentedly  among  the  grasses  at  the  side  of  the 
water,  not  noticing  his  presence;  he  heard  the 
quick  little  splash  of  a  fish  taking  a  fly  on  the  sur- 
face. The  afternoon  was  warm.  There  was  a 
slumberous  sound  of  bees  in  the  air.  He  fell 
asleep  without  feeling  sleepy,  just  as  he  had  done 
on  that  morning  long  ago,  when  he  had  opened  his 
eyes  and  seen  the  face  of  Mary  Chaworth  close  to 
his. 

And  now,  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  found 
himself  looking  into  the  face  of  Mary  Chaworth, 
but  it  was  the  face  which  appears  in  the  phantasm 
of  a  dream — the  face  of  Mary  Chaworth,  but  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  355 

face  of  a  child  as  well.  He  quickly  raised  his 
head  and  straightened  himself,  gazing  at  this  in- 
comprehensible vision.  The  little  girl  with  the 
face  and  the  hair  of  Mary  Chaworth  stood  there, 
only  a  few  yards  off,  gazing  at  him  with  large 
eyes  of  wondering  blue. 


CHAPTER  II 

(*  WOU  are  a  miniature,"  said  the  poet,  in  a 
I  voice  so  low  that  she  knew  it  was  not 
meant  to  be  answered  by  her.  So  she  still  gazed 
at  him.  She  was  not  so  lost  in  wonder  as  he  was. 
"You  are  the  fairy  spirit  of  a  day  of  the  past — 
the  daintiest  dream  that  ever  came  out  of  the 
limbo  of  memory." 

For  some  minutes  he  failed  to  realise  that  he 
was  fully  awake;  but  suddenly  the  explanation 
came  to  him  with  a  flash.  He  was  unable  to  speak 
at  first,  so  great  was  his  emotion.  He  turned 
aside  his  head  to  recover  himself.  The  little  girl 
was  moving  away,  slowly,  and  still  keeping  her 
eyes  on  him. 

"Do  not  go  away  without  speaking  to  me,"  he 
said,  putting  out  a  hand  to  her.  She  stopped, 
and  after  a  critical  scrutiny  of  him  she  went  to 
him  and  put  her  hand  in  his  confidingly. 

"  My  name  is  Mary  Musters  Chaworth  Musters," 
she  said.  "It  used  to  be  just  the  same,  only 
without  the  other  Musters.  It  was  only  Mary 
Musters  Chaworth.  When  I  say  it  all  straight 
out  now  some  people  fancy  that  there  are  two  of 
me.  They  laugh  at  the  two  Musters.  It  is  not 
funny  to  laugh  at  things  that  are  n't  funny,  now 

356 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  357 

is  it?  and  I  have  a  doll  that  undresses  and  its 
name  is  Princess  Charlotte  have  you  ever  seen 
the  Princess  Charlotte  the  real  one  and  I  have  a 
rabbit  that  jumps  and  mama  is  never  cross  as 
papa  is.  I  love  my  mama  and  I  love  my  papa 
because  she  told  me  that  I  must  and  so  I  do 
though  I  really  hate  him  and  what's  your  name 
and  have  you  any  little  girls  and  do  you  buy  them 
dolls  naked  or  with  clothes?" 

She  went  on  without  a  stop,  pronouncing  her 
words  with  the  sweetest  little  lisp,  and,  of  course, 
ignoring  the  the  in  favour  of  a  d.  She  called 
'without'  midout,  and  'naked'  she  pronounced 
maked.  She  was  not  at  all  breathless  after  she 
had  spoken  at  such  length  and  on  topics  covering 
such  an  extent  of  ground.  She  stood  looking  into 
his  face  with  serious  eyes. 

He  held  her  hand  in  both  his  own.  Her  fea- 
tures were  those  of  Mary  Chaworth  as  he  had 
known  her:  the  child  had  the  same  frank  blue- 
grey  eyes,  the  same  forehead  over  which  the 
ringlets — as  if  yellow  silk  threads  with  the  light 
shining  upon  them — rioted.  She  was  Mary's 
child;  and  even  while  he  gazed  at  her  the  grave 
expression  upon  her  face  passed  away  in  a  smile. 
That  was  exactly  how  Mary  Chaworth 's  mood  had 
changed  at  times — he  remembered  it  well. 

He  could  not  speak  for  some  time.  The  flood 
of  gracious  memories  that  came  upon  him  over- 
whelmed him.  He  could  only  smooth  the  little 
hand— even  that,  he  noticed,  was  the  shape  of 


358  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Mary's  hand — smiling  out  of  the  sadness  of  his 
thought. 

The  child  did  not  resent  his  silence.  She  looked 
at  him  as  if  she  understood  how  it  was  with  him — 
gentleness — compassion — her  face  expressed  both, 
he  thought ;  she  had  something  of  the  intuition  of 
her  mother. 

"You  are  Mary  Chaworth,"  he  said. 

"Mary  Musters  Chaworth  Musters,  now,"  said 
the  child,  taking  a  long  breath  and  saying  the 
words  in  a  gasp. 

"And  do  you  think  we  ever  met  before,  my 
Mary?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  little  surprise.  It 
was  clear  that  she  considered  that  she  had  a  good 
memory  and  was  reluctant  that  it  should  be 
found  wanting.  She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  his 
face  for  a  few  moments  and  then  she  said,  de- 
cisively, shaking  her  head, 

"  No ;  I  never  saw  you  in  all  my  life." 

"Not  in  all  your  life,  but  don't  you  think  it 
possible  that  you  were  somewhere  as  a  little 
angel's  soul,  near  me  long  ago — before  your  life 
began?  That  is  what  I  think  when  I  look  at  you, 
sweet  Mary." 

He  saw  the  puzzled  look  that  came  over  her 
face,  and  he  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"You  never  heard  any  one  talk  greater  non- 
sense than  that,  did  you,  now?"  he  asked  her. 

"No;  I  never  did,  indeed,"  she  assented 
warmly.  "All  the  angels  are  in  heaven." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  359 

"Are  they?"  he  said. 

"Yes;  and  if  we  are  good,  very  good,  mind, 
we  may  go  among  them  when  we  die,"  said  the 
child  gravely. 

"  And  do  you  think  that  you  would  like  to  go 
to  them,  Mary?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  't  would  be  drefful! "  she  replied.  "  I 
should  have  to  leave  my  mama.  I  don't  want  to 
go  away  from  my  mama  to  be  an  angel.  But 
nurse  says  that  heaven  is  lovely — just  as  nice  as 
going  to  the  seaside  in  summer,  and  all  the  sand 
is  gold,  and  the  sea  is  silver,  and  the  sea  never 
goes  out  so  we  can  paddle  all  day.  Nurse  said  it 
was  heavenly  at  the  seaside,  and  I  thought  that 
the  big  white  birds  flying  about  were  the  angels, 
only  they  had  n't  harps.  Mama  has  a  harp;  it's 
big  and  only  a  very  strong  angel  could  fly  about 
with  it.  Have  you  a  harp? " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  what  I  sometimes  call  my  lyre,"  said 
he. 

She  lifted  up  a  finger  to  him. 

"  You  must  never  say  that  word,  it 's  a  naughty 
one,"  she  whispered.  "  If  you  say  it  you  will  get 
hurt.  Tommy,  who  is  in  the  stables  and  combs 
my  pony's  tail,  came  to  cook  one  day  and  asked 
for  a  bit  of  raw  beef.  I  was  looking  over  the 
stairs  and  I  heard  him.  His  eye  was  shut  dref- 
fully,  and  it  looked  as  if  a  little  mouse  was  lying 
down  on  it.  Cook  laughed  and  so  did  Becky,  and 
Deborah  and  Rawdons,  who  cleans  the  boots. 


360  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

They  all  looked  at  his  eye,  and  everybody  wanted 
to  know  how  he  had  got  it  so  drefful,  and  he  said 
that  he  had  said  that  word  to  Johnson,  the  coach- 
man's son,  and  he  had  got  him  a  left  'ander  on  the 
peeper.  I  asked  nurse  what  a  left  'ander  was  and 
what  a  peeper  was  and  she  said  it  was  stable  talk 
and  not  fit  for  young  ladies.  I  'm  a  young  lady." 

"  I  will  never  say  that  word  again,"  said  Byron. 

"What  word?" 

"  The  word  that  got  Tommy  a  left  'ander  on  the 
peeper.  I  should  n't  like  such  a  thing  to  happen 
to  me." 

"  If  you  are  good  nothing  will  happen  to  you. 
You  must  always  do  what  you  are  told  until  you 
are  grown  up." 

"And  after  that?" 

"Oh,  you  may  do  as  you  please.  Did  you  do 
what  you  were  told  when  you  were  a  little  boy?" 

"Not  always,  I'm  afraid.  I  did  not  begin  to 
do  it  until  I  was  grown  up." 

"Did  you  get  beaten  with  a  cane  or  with  a 
whip?"  ' 

"Sometimes  with  one,  sometimes  with  the 
other — whichever  was  handier  at  the  moment." 

"  Miss  Sims  uses  a  newspaper  folded  up ;  she 's 
our  governess.  Did  you  ever  have  a  newspaper 
used  against  you?" 

"  Indeed  I  have ;  scarcely  a  day  passes  without 
a  newspaper  beating  me,  my  dear." 

"Hard?" 

"Very  hard." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  361 

"  It 's  all  to  make  you  good.  I  s  'pose  you  are 
very  bad." 

"What  do  you  think  about  it  yourself,  my 
Mary?" 

"About  what?" 

"  About  my  badness.  Do  you  think  that  I  am 
bad?" 

"You  look  good;  but  Miss  Sims  says  that 
sometimes  the  best-looking  gentlemen  are  the 
worsest.  Papa  said  Miss  Sims  was  an  old  maid, 
but  good  enough  for  teaching  brats.  Miss  Sims 
was  angry  and  said  that  if  she  was  an  old  maid  it 
was  her  own  fault.  I  did  n't  know  that  she  had 
any  faults  before  then.  But  she  cried  in  the 
schoolroom  when  we  were  making  toffee  that 
evening.  I  asked  her  if  she  was  crying  for  her 
faults,  and  she  stopped  crying  so  that  she  might 
be  angry.  The  toffee  got  burnt.  Do  you  like 
toffee?" 

"Not  exactly  that  sort,  my  dear.  But  I've 
found  that  always  when  I  had  prepared  to  enjoy 
a  feast  of  toffee  it  tasted  burnt  the  moment  it  got 
near  my  lips  and  left  a  bad  taste  in  my  mouth. 
I'm  not  a  good  toffee  maker." 

" Did  you  rub  the  pan  well  with  butter?" 

"  Alas !  I  'm  afraid  that  I  am  one  of  those  people 
who  try  to  make  toffee  on  a  gridiron." 

She  was  shocked  and  took  a  step  back  from 
him  in  surprise. 

"It  would  all  go  into  the  fire— all  the  sugar," 
she  cried. 


362  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"And  so  it  did — all  the  sugar  went  into  the 
fire,"  said  he. 

"Did  you  cry?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"I'm  afraid  that  I  did — through  two  volumes," 
he  replied  smiling.  "But  I  'm  merry  now  since 
I  met  you,  my  Mary — my  Mary — it  makes  me 
glad  even  to  say  your  name — Mary — Mary.  I 
should  be  always  glad  if  I  could  always  have  your 
name  on  my  lips.  It  is  the  only  name  that  I  ever 
knew  which  leaves  a  sweet  taste  in  my  mouth." 

"You  may  say  it  all  as  often  as  you  like"- 
she  took  a  long  breath — "  Mary  Musters  Chaworth 
Musters.     May  be  't  is  too  long  for  you  to  learn. 
Do  you  still  learn  lessons?" 

"I  do,  daily.     I  am  learning  one  now." 

"Where's  your  book?  I  have  got  as  far  as 
'  The  cow  and  the  cat  are  fat ' — '  The  man  ran  to 
the  dog ' — '  The  pig  is  in  its  bed. ' '  Suddenly  she 
looked  away  from  him  and  cried : 

"Oh,  here  is  mama!  She  is  looking  for  me,  I 
know.  Where  is  Mr.  Vince?  I  came  here  with 
Mr.  Vince." 

He  glanced  round — Mary  Chaworth  the  mother 
was  standing  among  the  trees,  with  a  hand 
stretched  out  to  the  little  girl  who  was  running 
toward  her,  but  her  eyes  were  upon  Byron. 

He  got  upon  his  feet  and  shook  back  the  curls 
that  had  fallen  over  his  forehead.  She  came  to 
him  smiling,  her  child  dancing  round  her,  holding 
her  hand ;  she  was  telling  her  mother  of  the  funny 
man  who  had  tried  to  make  toffee  on  a  gridiron. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  363 

Thus  it  was  they  met  after  the  lapse  of  years — 
both  smiling,  both  silent.  The  child  became 
silent  too,  looking  up  to  her  mother  and  then  at 
him. 

"I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  here,"  she  said. 
"O  Byron,  what  a  long  time  you  were  in  com- 
ing! But  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again.  Seeing 
you  looking  so  young  makes  me  feel  young  once 
more.  Oh,  the  long  years!  You  belong  to  the 
world  now,  not  to  Newstead,  not  to  us.  But 
you  have  not  forgotten  that  your  lips  were  first 
unsealed  among  us.  It  was  with  us  that  you  first 
learned  the  magic  with  which  you  have  enchained 
the  world." 

"I  can  never  forget  it,"  he  said.  "I  do  not 
know  if  the  world  will  remember  anything  that  I 
have  written  as  long  as  I  remember  the  first  song 
that  came  to  me.  It  was  you  who  picked  up  the 
chirping  sparrow  that  was  thrown  out  of  its  nest 
on  the  roadside,  Mary.  I  was  thinking  of  it  only 
an  hour  ago." 

"It  was  a  forlorn  little  bird  then— everyone 
thought  that  it  was  a  sparrow ;  but  I  had  a  feeling 
that  it  was  a  nightingale;  it  has  shown  itself  to 
be  a  nightingale — the  sweetest  that  ever  sang  in 
England,"  she  cried.  "  I  have  read  Childe  Harold 
—not  always  without  tears,  Byron.  Happiness? 
The  song  of  the  Eastern  nightingale  to  the  rose 
—is  that  always  a  song  of  happiness?  To  be 
a  poet  is,  I  think,  to  be  the  interpreter  of  un- 
happiness." 


364  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  It  was  from  you  I  got  that  word  '  Interpreter/ ' 
he  said.     "That  is  the  one  word  which  I  have 
always  tried  to  remember.     I  wished  to  be  an 
interpreter  between  man  and  man,  between  man 
and  nature." 

"And  that,  I  told  you,  is  what  it  is  to  be  a 
poet,"  she  said. 

"  It  is — it  is ;  and  if  I  could  always  remember 
that  and  forget  myself  I  should  be  a  poet,"  said 
he.  "But  when  I  read  what  I  have  written  I 
feel  humiliated;  I  feel  that  I  have  put  myself 
into  too  great  prominence.  People  have  read 
Childe  Harold  and  believed  that  I  was  putting 
myself  and  myself  only  into  the  poem." 

"They  were  fools!"  she  cried.  "I  read  it  and 
knew  that  you  were  not  looking  at  everything  that 
you  described  through  a  single  pair  of  eyes,  and 
those  eyes  your  own.  But  the  unhappiness — the 
pedal  of  unhappiness  which  you  press  down  now 
and  again,  sending  a  note  that  mourns  through 
stanza  after  stanza — that,  I  fear,  is  your  own 
note — the  unsatisfied  cry  of  the  dreamer  of 
dreams.  But  the  nobleness  of  it  all — the  love  of 
freedom — the  passionate  war-cry  in  the  ears  of  a 
world  that  loves  better  to  sleep  than  anything 
else — that  also  is  yourself,  Byron.  That  is  what 
I  love — that  trumpet-call  of  Liberty.  I  heard 
it,  my  dear  Byron,  and  I  thought  of  the  promise 
which  you  made  to  me  in  the  garden  at  Annesley 
— I  have  never  sat  on  that  stone  bench  without 
thinking  that  I  was  sitting  there  that  day  when 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  365 

you  promised  me  that  you  would  ever  be  on  the 
side  of  Freedom — that  you  would  ever  lift  up  your 
voice  in  behalf  of  the  oppressed  against  the  op- 
pressive. You  have  kept  your  word.  You  have 
not  forgotten  the  night  when  I  sang  about  the 
Minstrel  Boy  to  you?" 

"Ah,  that  night— that  night,  Mary!" 

"It  was  a  wonderful  night.  I  felt  that  you 
were  indeed  the  minstrel  carrying  both  the  harp 
and  the  sword — going  out  into  the  world — no  true 
poet  can  face  the  world  unless  with  a  sword  in  his 
hand.  He  has  to  strike  at  all  that  keeps  the 
world  unbeautiful.  You  have  struck  well,  my 
minstrel,  and  you  will  strike  more  strongly  still 
when  you  get  to  know  your  own  power.  You 
will " 

"Ah,  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  my- 
self," said  Byron.  "I  want  to  hear  about  you, 
yourself.  You  have  been  happy? " 

"Yes,  I  have  been  happy,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  You  say  that  in  the  tone  of  a  woman  who  is 
reconciled  to  her  unhappiness,"  said  he. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  two  children,"  she  said.  "  They  mean 
nothing  but  happiness  to  me." 

After  only  a  short  pause  she  laughed  the  laugh 
of  the  girl  whom  he  had  known  at  Annesley. 

"  I  think  that  it  is  harder  for  a  woman  to  be 
reconciled  to  her  happiness  than  to  her  unhappi- 
ness," she  cried.  "There  is  a  hard  saying  for 
you  to  interpret,  Cousin  Byron,  the  interpreter 


366  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

between  man  and  man.  I  wonder  if  you  have 
ever  thought  of  woman  as  needing  an  interpreter 
sometimes — always  ? " 

"Always — always,"  said  Byron. 

"Always?  I  think  that  you  are  right,"  said 
she  musingly.  "  Up  to  the  present,  man  knows 
very  little  about  woman.  That  is  because  she 
thinks  in  one  language  and  talks  in  another;  so 
her  interpreters  are  baffled:  they  know  only  the 
language  in  which  she  speaks  and  thus  man  gets 
no  nearer  to  the  real  woman.  But  this  is  no  time 
to  talk  philosophy  to  you,  Cousin  Byron.  I  wish 
to  give  you  the  welcome  of  affection,  not  of  philo- 
sophy ;  and  indeed  you  are  welcome.  You  have 
already  made  friends  with  Mary.  You  and  she 
must  have  had  a  long  chat.  We  were  trespassers 
on  your  grounds.  We  have  had  an  annual  fete 
within  the  refectory  of  the  old  Priory,  drinking 
our  syllabub  and  cowslip  wine  on  the  friars' 
benches.  It  was  Mr.  Vince  who  took  Mary  away 
to  feed  the  carp.  Strange  man  that  he  is!  He 
never  said  a  word  about  your  coming;  I  should, 
of  course,  have  inquired  for  you  at  the  house." 

"  I  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  awoke  I  found  myself 
looking  up  to  heaven,  for  the  face  of  Mary  Cha- 
worth  was  bending  over  mine  once  again.  How 
like  the  child  is  to  you!  When  I  looked  up  and 
saw  her  face,  I  thought  for  the  moment  that  I  was 
merely  recalling  that  morning  so  long  ago  when 
you  found  me  on  the  roadside.  When  she  took 
a  few  steps  from  me  and  I  sat  up,  it  seemed  to 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  367 

me  that  by  some  miracle  I  had  been  borne  back 
a  dozen  years  even  before  that  day,  so  that  I  was 
looking  at  you  when  you  were  a  child." 

"  I  believe  that  I  was  just  such  another  chatter- 
box," said  Mary.  "I  am  sure  she  talked  to  you 
without  ceasing." 

"  She  told  me  a  great  deal"  said  Byron,  and  he 
saw  that  she  gave  a  little  start.  "  Her  name,  for 
instance.  I  was  under  the  impression  that  Mr. 
Musters  had  taken  your  surname." 

"So  he  did,"  said  Mary;  "but  he  retained  it 
only  for  a  few  years,  then  he  took  his  own  sur- 
name again,  so  that  now  we  are  the  Musters." 

"May  I  revisit  the  old  place — I  suppose  you 
are  at  Annesley  just  now?"  said  Byron. 

"Yes;  we  are  at  Annesley  just  now."  She 
paused  for  a  moment  before  adding: 

"It  would  be  delightful  to  see  you  there  once 
again.  I  do  not  think  that  there  is  any  danger  of 
a  further  menace  from  the  picture.  You  have  not 
forgotten  how  it  fell  from  its  panel." 

"I  have  not  forgotten  how  anxious  you  were 
for  my  safety,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  remember  the 
dream  that  you  had  of  coming  down  the  stairs 
and  standing  before  it  to  pray  that  the  crime  of 
my  predecessor  might  not  be  visited  on  my  head? " 

She  flushed,  and  cried  quickly : 

"I  do  not  remember  telling  you  that  I  had 
such  a  dream.  Why,  it  only  happened  the  night 
before  we— oh,  if  we  begin  recalling  everything, 
where  shall  we  end?" 


368  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"Ah,  where,  indeed?"  said  he.  "Especially  if 
we  begin  to  recall  our  dreams;  I  had  my  dream 
as  well  as  you  in  those  days,  Mary." 

She  put  out  a  hand  to  him;  tears  were  in  her 
eyes.  But  the  moment  that  he  touched  it,  she 
turned  away  her  head.  When  he  let  her  hand 
drop,  she  went  away  quickly  without  a  word — 
without  even  glancing  at  him.  Her  little  girl, 
standing  all  this  time  on  the  lowest  of  the  stone 
steps,  flinging  her  crumbs  into  the  pond  and 
chatting  familiarly  to  every  fish  that  rose,  rebuk- 
ing some  for  their  greediness,  encouraging  others, 
and  shaking  her  finger  at  all  of  them  for  not  say- 
ing "Thank  you,"  hearing  her  mother  depart,  ran 
up  the  steps  and  caught  Byron  by  the  arm. 

"You  must  promise  to  come  to  see  us.  We'll 
teach  you  how  to  make  toffee  in  the  right  way. 
We  '11  have  great  fun  if  you  come  some  day  when 
papa  is  not  there.  Good-bye." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  and  she  ran  away 
after  her  mother. 

He  watched  them  join  the  little  party  of  child- 
ren and  nurses  who  appeared  in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER  III 

D  YRON  stood  leaning  against  one  of  the  carved 
1~J  stone  vases,  looking  into  the  water,  over 
the  surface  of  which  a  swallow  was  circling.  He 
watched  it  skimming  the  tiny  ripples,  then  flash- 
ing high  into  the  air,  wheeling  with  its  wings 
suddenly  checking  its  flight,  and  then  swooping  in 
an  exquisite  curve  down  to  the  surface  once  more. 
It  was  then  that  the  lines  were  suggested  to  him : 

Our  thoughts  like  swallows  skim  the  main, 
And  bear  our  spirits  back  again. 

He  had  seen  her  again,  and  all  the  space  of 
years  that  had  elapsed  was  annihilated.  He 
found  that  he  was  thinking  of  her  now  as  he  had 
thought  of  her  long  ago.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been 
reading  a  poem,  and  had  then  laid  the  volume 
face  down  on  his  desk,  but  now  he  had  returned 
to  pick  it  up  and  continue  the  passage  where  he 
had  left  off.  He  had  been  able  to  continue  from 
the  very  line  that  he  had  last  read.  And  his  con- 
tinuation of  his  reading  had  left  him  in  the  same 
mood  of  plaintively  passionate  rebellion  against 
his  destiny  that  had  been  his  before. 

He  remembered  perfectly  how  he  spent  hours 
railing  against  the  cruelty  of  the  fate  that  had 

369 


370  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

built  up  a  barrier  between  Mary  and  himself  be- 
fore they  had  known  each  other;  and  now  his 
heart  was  full  of  the  same  emotion.  He  had  been 
longing  all  his  life  for  a  home,  and  yet  he  was 
doomed  to  be  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
He  had  come  back  to  his  inheritance  only  to  find 
that  he  was  as  far  as  ever  from  a  home. 

As  far  as  ever?     And  how  far  was  that? 

She  had  passed  within  half  a  dozen  yards  of  the 
entrance  to  Newstead;  and  it  was  just  that  nar- 
row space  that  separated  him  from  the  happiness 
for  which  he  had  passed  his  life  in  longing.  If 
she  had  entered  the  mansion  at  first,  his  life  would 
have  been  different.  He  thought  of  Mary  Cha- 
worth  as  his  wife,  of  her  child  as  his,  and  there 
came  before  his  eyes  a  picture  of  all  the  joyful- 
ness  of  the  home  which  would  be  his.  He  had 
tasted  of  the  world;  the  world  had  given  him  of 
its  best,  but  left  him  unsatisfied,  because  it  had 
withheld  from  him  the  one  thing  for  which  his 
heart  had  been  crying  out.  He  knew  that  it  is 
the  strongest  of  a  man's  instincts  to  be  the  founder 
of  a  family  and  a  home,  to  sit  by  his  fireside  with 
wife  and  children  around  him,  he  knew  that  the 
instinct  has  been  transmitted  from  the  very  early 
ancestors  of  the  human  race — the  cave-dwellers 
who  felt  themselves  secure  when  their  fire  was 
beside  them ;  and  he  knew  that  the  striving  after 
the  happiness  of  a  home  is  the  worthiest  that  a 
man  can  have. 

He  had  fallen  short  of  its  attainment  by  a 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  371 

hand's  breadth — that  was  what  was  in  his  mind 
when  he  watched  Mary  Chaworth  moving  away 
from  him;  the  voices  of  the  children  sounded 
through  the  evening  air  and  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. He  felt  very  lonely  listening  to  them. 
They  were  not  for  him.  The  sound  that  was  for 
him  was  that  of  the  acclamation  of  the  world  for 
its  greatest  poet,  and  he  thought  nothing  of  it. 

He  turned  away  from  the  flaming  iris  flags  that 
stood  up  among  the  broad  floating  leaves  of  the 
surface  of  the  fish-pond,  and  saw  Vince  standing 
beside  one  of  the  stone  urns.  The  man  was  smil- 
ing in  his  own  way,  which  Byron  remembered  but 
too  well. 

"You  are  here  as  usual,"  he  said.  "I  suppose 
it  was  you  who  led  the  child  to  where  I  lay  asleep." 

"You  are  right,  my  good  lord,"  replied  Vince. 
'  I  did  not  look  for  your  arrival  until  much  later, 
in  the  day;  but  when  I  came  upon  you  here,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  seeing  you 
awake  under  unaccustomed  conditions.  I  led  the 
child  hither,  and — yes,  it  was  worth  it." 

"You  were  spying  on  us?"  said  Byron. 

"  Your  lordship  could  not  use  a  more  appropriate 
word.  I  was  spying,  but  from  a  polite  distance. 
I  suppose  that  I  am  the  politest  spy  in  the  world." 

"Why  should  you  be  a  spy  at  all,  my  friend?" 
Is  it  because  you  believe  it  to  be  the  rdle  in  life 
which  best  suits  your  peculiar  temperament?" 

"It  is  with  me  a  purely  intellectual  exercise, 
my  Lord  Byron.  I  am  an  intellectual  investiga- 


372  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

tor — not  a  material  one.  I  like  the  work  and 
pursue  it  as  a  mental  recreation,  and  without  the 
hope  of  material  gain.  I  am  a  sort  of  psycho- 
logical chemist.  I  like  to  try  experiments  with 
the  souls  of  men  and  women,  dropping  them  into 
my  crucible,  blending  them  together  upon  occa- 
sion and  seeing  what  comes  of  it,  subjecting  them 
to  the  lenses  of  my  microscope,  noting  their 
composition  and  frequently  their  decomposition. 
I  assure  you  that  I  have  made  some  curious 
discoveries." 

"  I  cannot  doubt  it.  Have  you  found  that  any 
of  your  amalgams  has  resulted  in  the  philosopher's 
stone,  a  psychological  philosopher's  stone,  Mr. 
Vince?" 

"Your  lordship  suggests  a  mind  that  changes 
into  gold  everything  that  it  touches?" 

"Even  so." 

"Hitherto  the  result  of  my  experiments  has 
been  in  just  the  opposite  direction.  I  have  found 
that  the  majority  of  minds  possess  the  property 
of  turning  precious  things  into  base.  But  then, 
you  must  know  that  the  sphere  of  my  observa- 
tion is  so  limited  that  I  have  not  yet  had  an  op- 
portunity of  trying  experiments  upon  a  poet. 
Speaking  as  one  of  the  cognoscenti,  my  lord,  but 
at  the  same  time  frankly,  do  you  believe  that  I 
should  have  any  better  results  with  a  poet  than 
I  have  had  with  the  clay  out  of  which  ordinary 
souls  are  made?" 

"  I  think,  frankly,  that  if  you  have  been  work- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  373 

ing  in  clay  hitherto,  you  have  not  got  very  much 
nearer  to  the  soul  that  you  have  been  talking 
about." 

"  The  tenement  of  clay — it  was  a  poet  who  in- 
vented that  phrase,  was  it  not?  But,  alas!  he 
knew  less  science  even  than  the  most  successful 
of  poets.  The  result  of  my  experiments  is  to  in- 
duce me  to  believe  that  the  tenement  is  more 
spiritual  than  the  spirit  which  is  supposed  to 
honour  it  by  making  it  its  place  of  residence.  The 
man's  body  would  do  good  in  the  world  if  the 
man's  soul  would  only  let  it  alone.  The  man's 
body  is  a  noble  thing;  it  is  the  man's  soul  that 
plays  the  very  devil  with  it." 

Byron  laughed. 

"Your  philosophy  is  the  wisdom  of  the  devil, 
Mr.  Vince,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  that  you  have 
been  allowed  to  live  among  the  simple  people  here. 
Properly  speaking,  you  should  have  been  stoned 
or  burnt  years  ago.  Your  doctrines  are  grossly 
immoral.  There  must  be  no  end  to  the  mischief 
that  you  do  with  your  hideous  experiments.  What 
is  your  object  in  life?" 

"  To  live,  my  lord,  only  to  live,"  laughed  Vince. 
"Perhaps  I  shall  one  day  write  the  comedy  of 
life." 

"  It  will  be  an  illuminating  work— illuminated 
by  the  fires  of  the  Bottomless  Pit,"  said  Byron. 

"  I  should  like  to  make  Lord  Byron  my  hero, 
as  he  is  already  the  hero  of  the  world,"  said 
Vince. 


374  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  I  should  like  to  see  how  you  would  treat  me," 
said  Byron.  "  I  will  say  that  you  have  lost  no 
opportunity  of  observing  me  any  time  that  you 
found  me  in  your  neighbourhood.  You  went  far 
the  first  time  that  we  met." 

"The  most  interesting  night  of  my  life,"  cried 
Vince.  "  It  was  one  of  the  strangest  nights  ever 
known  in  the  world.  A  night  of  marvellous 
meteors.  I  watched  them  for  hours.  I  left  off 
watching  them  to  discover  you.  The  meteor  man 
of  our  new  century.  I  should  have  known  that 
you  would  be  a  meteor  like  the  rest  that  I  saw 
that  night.  How  could  you  be  otherwise  ?  I  was 
so  interested  in  you  that  I  uttered  my  thoughts 
aloud  and  so  drove  you  to — what?  Had  you  a 
presentiment  of  what  was  before  you?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  You  insulted  me  and  I 
left  you.  I  knew  nothing  more  than  that." 

"  Like  Saul  the  son  of  Kish  who,  all  unwittingly, 
was  led  by  asses  to  be  made  a  king,  you  were 
driven  forth  by  my  insolence  and  now  you  find 
yourself  monarch  of  the  realm  on  which  you  en- 
tered a  few  hours  after  leaving  me — the  realm  of 
the  immortals — the  realm  of  poesy?" 

"Why  do  you  put  the  inflection  of  a  question 
to  that  vile  phrase,  man?" 

"I  wondered  if  you  would  be  inclined  to  call 
the  realm  of  poesy  the  one  on  which  you  entered, 
or  the  other  the  immortal  realm." 

"What  other?" 

"What  other?     Why,  the  realm  of  love,  to  be 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  375 

sure;  that  is  the  only  realm  of  the  immortals — 
the  realm  of  immortal  love." 

"Keep  your  gibes  for  another  subject,  friend 
Vince." 

"  I  will  obey  your  lordship,  but  when  I  think 
of  what  you  have  achieved  in  the  other  realm  I 
do  not  feel  inclined  to  gibe.  Lord  Byron,  you  are 
a  great  poet,  and  I  pity  any  man  with  all  my 
heart  who  is  compelled  to  be  a  great  poet.  A  poet 
is  born.  That  is  one  of  the  bitterest  truths  of 
life.  He  must  have  a  father  such  as  yours — a 
grandfather — a  mother  such  as  yours.  Of  such 
parentage  is  the  great  poet  born.  He  is  a  poet, 
but  unconscious  of  his  calling  because  he  has  not 
yet  heard  the  call  to  rise  up  and  sing  to  the  world. 
How  does  he  hear  the  call?  There  is  only  one 
way — suffering.  It  is  when  he  looks  around  him 
and  sees  how  desperately  wrong  is  the  whole 
ordering  of  the  world  that  the  pains  of  his  poet- 
hood  come  upon  him,  and  he  hears  the  summons 
that  he  has  no  choice  but  to  obey.  You,  Byron 
the  poet,  know  how  you  suffered.  To  be  a  poet 
is  to  have  double  an  ordinary  mortal's  capacity 
for  suffering.  Your  infancy,  your  boyhood,  your 
manhood — suffering;  and  if  Heaven  has  got  a 
great  enough  grudge  against  you  to  compel  you 
to  produce  even  greater  work  than  you  have  yet 
done,  you  will  have  to  face  more  suffering." 

Byron  looked  at  the  man  in  surprise.  He  had 
not  expected  so  serious  or  so  sincere  an  outburst, 
from  him.  He  had  dropped  his  mocking  note 


376  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

speaking  now  with  earnestness  and  with  more 
than  a  preacher's  confidence  in  the  truth  of  what 
he  had  to  say. 

"Everything  that  you  said  is  true,  Mr.  Vince," 
cried  Byron.  "  It  is  only  when  Heaven  has  a  par- 
ticular grudge  against  a  mortal  that  he  is  called 
to  be  a  poet." 

"The  world  honours  him  for  being  different 
from  other  men,  and  then  reviles  him  for  not 
being  the  same  as  other  men,"  resumed  Vince. 
"  The  temperament  of  the  poet  insists  on  his  being 
a  perpetual  lover ;  but  the  world  looks  for  him  to 
be  just  the  opposite — the  respectable  husband. 
The  poet  who  is  thwarted  in  his  love  becomes  the 
greatest  of  all." 

"  That  is  his  discipline  of  suffering,"  said  Byron. 

"We  need  not  look  for  examples,  you  and  I," 
said  Vince.  "Ah,  my  Lord  Poet,  I  have  never 
ceased  to  watch  you  since  we  first  met,  and  you 
did  me  the  honour  to  see  a  likeness  in  me  first  to 
your  father  and  then  to  the  Devil.  I  watched 
you  when  that  beautiful  girl  picked  you  up  from 
the  ditch  and  brought  you  to  her  home.  I  knew 
what  the  result  would  be,  though  I  confess  that 
I  did  not  dream  of  your  being  disciplined  for 
a  poet.  I  it  was  who  led  you  to  see  that  bril- 
liant wedding  procession.  I  watched  you,  and 
I  knew  that  I  had  contributed  to  whatever  end 
your  disciplining  was  leading  you.  That  end 
was  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage.  That  poem  has 
but  two  cantos  up  to  the  present.  But  it  is  un- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  377 

finished.     I  am  wondering  what  the  new  cantos 
will  be." 

"  You  are  wondering  if  you  could  do  anything 
more  to  further  the  ends  of  Fate,"  said  Byron. 
"  You  are  wondering  if  it  would  be  in  your  power 
to  weave  an  additional  lash  to  the  scourge  which 
means  the  disciplining  of  a  poet." 

"  I  am  not  so  conceited  as  to  arrogate  to  myself 
the  office  of  a  deputy  Fate,  my  lord,"  said  the 
man,  still  gravely.  "I  shall  have  enough  to  do 
looking  on.  Here  are  you  still  loving  the  one 
woman  of  your  heart,  and  here  she  appears  still 
loving  you— 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?  What  disordered 
imagination  is  this  of  yours?"  cried  Byron,  with 
a  sudden  fierce  clutch  at  the  man's  arm. 

"  Substitute  observation  for  imagination  and  I 
will  not  object  to  your  words,"  said  Vince.  "I 
suppose  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  disorderly  chem- 
ist's laboratory.  And  when  it  is  a  laboratory 
for  souls  and  every  soul  is  a  more  potent  me- 
dium of  explosive  mischief  than  gunpowder,  and 
the  result  of  the  amalgamation  of  two  of  them 
may  wreck  a  kingdom,  can  you  wonder  that  a 
simple  looker-on  such  as  myself  should  occasion- 
ally be  disordered?" 

"Tell  me  what  you  have  seen,"  said  Byron, 
suddenly. 

"Saul  and  his  witch,"  cried  the  other.  "He 
called  her  a  hag,  and  only  missed  burning  her  by 
a  day  or  two,  but  he  wished  to  know  what  it  was 


378  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

that  she  saw.  My  Lord  Poet,  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  she  loved  you  long  ago;  you  saw  the  look 
she  cast  at  you,  boy  and  all  as  you  were  then, 
when  she  had  not  been  a  wife  for  half  an  hour? " 

"  It  meant  nothing." 

"But  you  knew  that  she  loved  you;  you  did 
not  leave  Annesley  Hall  at  that  time  without 
learning  that  she  loved  you,  although  she  was  to 
marry  the  man  who  now  ill-treats  her." 

Again  Byron  clutched  his  arm,  this  time  with 
both  hands. 

"  That  is  not  possible ;  he  could  never  be  such 
a  monster,"  he  cried. 

"  Do  you  really  need  to  ask  me  such  a  question 
after  talking  face  to  face  with  her  for  half  an 
hour?"  said  Vince.  "Do  not  tell  me  that  you 
did  not  see  her  story  in  her  eyes.  Do  not  tell  me 
that  you  did  not  see  her  face  as  the  face  of  a 
woman  that  has  been  very  close  to  sorrow — so 
close  that  her  lips  met  the  lips  of  Sorrow  and  she 
said  to  Sorrow,  'Be  thou  my  Joy'?" 

"I  saw  it — I  saw  it,"  said  Byron,  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  saw  it  and  said  that  it  was  the  ex- 
pression of  one  who  was  reconciled  to  grief.  .  .  . 
But  she  has  her  children." 

"And  her  religion.  I  had  her  missal  in  my 
hand  one  day,  and  I  read  the  words  which  she 
had  written  on  the  blank  pages :  '  Lord,  I  know 
not  what  I  should  ask  of  Thee,  Thou  only  know- 
est  what  I  want  and  Thou  lovest  me  better  than 
I  can  love  myself.  Give  to  me,  Thy  child,  what 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  379 

is  proper,  whatsoever  it  may  be.  I  dare  not  ask 
bitter  crosses  or  comforts.  I  only  present  myself 
to  Thee.  Behold  my  wants  of  which  I  am  ig- 
norant, but  do  Thou  behold  and  do  according  to 
Thy  mercy.  Smite  and  heal,  depress  me  and  raise 
me  up.  I  adore  all  Thy  purposes  without  know- 
ing them ;  I  am  silent.  I  offer  myself  in  sacrifice.' 
Those  were  the  words  that  Mary  Chaworth  wrote 
in  her  book  of  prayers.  It  is  because  I  committed 
those  words  to  memory  before  I  left  the  church 
where  she  had  laid  her  book,  that  I  tell  you  she 
has  her  religion  as  well  as  her  children  to  support 
her  in  her  worst  hours.  Now,  there  we  have  cer- 
tain ingredients  that  go  to  the  making  of  a  pure 
soul  of  woman,  and  do  you  not  fancy  that  the 
interest  of  watching  their  chemical  changes  when 
brought  into  contact  with — well,  with  other  in- 
gredients of  a  totally  different  character,  is 
absorbing?" 

Byron  was  pacing  the  narrow  ground  that  lay 
between  the  urns  at  the  top  of  the  stone  steps. 
His  head  was  bent.  He  did  not  seem  to  hear 
what  the  man  had  said — certainly  not  the  latter 
sentences.  At  last  he  came  to  a  standstill  before 
Vince  and  said : 

"  There  is  ill-treatment  and  ill-treatment.  What 
form  does  his  take?" 

"  That  form  which  a  woman,  unless  she  has  lost 
all  sensibility,  can  least  endure,"  replied  Vince. 

"She  has  a  rival?" 

"  Now  and  again— rarely  the  same  during  the 


380  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

summer  that  was  a  living  force  in  the  winter. 
The  man,  as  you  know,  lived  at  Colbrook  before 
his  marriage.  Then  he  came  to  Annesley,  and 
later  on  he  acquired  another  house.  'Thrift, 
Horatio,  thrift!'  Why  should  a  gentleman  of 
ambition  restrict  himself  when  he  has  three  fine 
houses  to  keep  up?  He  makes  every  house  his 
home  except  the  one  that  his  wife  inhabits. 
Three?  He  would  need  a  dozen,  this  Squire 
Musters." 

"What  ruffians  men  are!"  said  Byron. 

"  We  are  indeed,"  acquiesced  Vince.  "  I  prefer 
you  will  observe,  to  accept  the  statement  in  its 
concrete,  rather  than  its  abstract,  form.  I  have 
noticed  that  when  men  talk  of  the  wickedness  of 
man  they  take  it  for  granted  that  their  hearers 
will  not  accept  their  statement  as  a  confession. 
Nay,  when  a  man  shakes  his  head  and  complains 
of  the  wickedness  of  men,  he  has  a  pleasant  sense 
of  exceptional  virtue,  but  in  reality  he  is  regret- 
ting that  he  has  lost  so  many  opportunities  of 
participating  in  the  wickednesses  which  he  has 
attributed  to  others.  Has  your  lordship  had 
many  chances  of  mourning  over  lost  oppor- 
tunities?" 

"  He  is  not  at  Annesley  just  now?  "  said  Byron, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  man's  sneers — indeed, 
he  was  unconscious  of  them. 

"He?    Who?    The  wicked  man?" 

"Musters." 

"  His  wife  is  at  Annesley.     Is  not  that  enough  ? ' ' 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  381 

"  You  said  that  he  was  never  to  be  found  in  the 
same  house  as  his  wife." 

'  To  be  found '  ?  Are  you  anxious  to  find  him, 
or  are  you  thinking  of  paying  a  visit  of  duty  to 
your  cousin ;  she  is  your  cousin  even  though  half 
a  dozen  times  removed." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do.  Why  should 
you  assume  that  I  intend  to  do  anything?" 

"  I  made  no  such  assumption ;  it  was  your  lord- 
ship who  talked  of  finding  Mr.  Musters.  To  talk 
of  finding  is  to  talk  of  seeking,  and— 

"  And  to  talk  of  seeking  is  to  talk  of  foolishness, 
and  to  talk  to  Vince  is  to  talk  to  a  fool.  Come, 
man,  throw  aside  your  affectations  of  cynicism — 
your  double  meanings — talk  to  a  man  like  a 
friend — I  have  always  treated  you  as  a  friend,  in 
spite  of  your  gibes  and  jeers  and  flaunts  and 
sneers.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  when  I 
asked  if  Musters  was  at  Annesley,  all  that  I  had  in 
my  mind  was  the  thought  of  her  being  beside  him 
at  this  moment.  Why  should  you  always  look  at 
the  worst  possibilities  rather  than  the  best?" 
Vince  laughed  quite  pleasantly. 

"I  look  at  the  probabilities  rather  than  the 
possibilities,"  he  said.  "The  probabilities  are  all 
in  favour  of  the  worst,  the  possibilities  are  of  the 
best  happening.  In  spite  of  statistics  spread 
away  in  my  memory,  I  am  never  despondent  of 
the  possibility  of  good  happening  even  now;  I 
feel  that  it  is  not  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility 
that  you  will  return  to  London  to-morrow." 


382  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Byron  was  startled  for  the  moment;  the  con- 
versation of  this  strange  man  usually  contained 
some  element  of  a  detonating  quality. 

"Who  was  talking  about  my  going  back  to 
London?"  said  Byron.  " Let  me  assure  you  that 
I  have  no  intention  of  doing  so." 

"I  knew  you  had  no  such  intention;  your 
avowal  of  this  adds  to  my  statistics  bearing  upon 
the  likelihood  of  the  best  happening  rather  than 
the  worst,"  said  Vince. 

"Psha!  I  am  tired  of  you,  friend  Vince.  You 
weary  me.  What  kind  of  people  do  you  consort 
with  that  you  are  alive  to-day?  They  are  cul- 
pably good-natured;  you  should  have  been  run 
through  the  vitals  long  ago.  Come  up  to  dinner 
with  me  some  evening." 

"  In  order  that  the  negligence  of  our  neighbours 
may  be  redeemed?"  said  Vince.  ''I  feel  hon- 
oured by  your  lordship's  hospitable  offer,  but  I 
prefer  the  simplicity  of  the  Sybarite  to  be  found 
within  my  own  cottage  to  the  ostentation  of  un- 
eatables  which  I  understand  is  to  be  found  on 
your  lordship's  dinner-table.  I  much  prefer  a 
dinner  of  herbs  garnishing  a  well-cooked  joint  to 
the  stalled  ox  that  stays  in  his  stall  while  pickled 
gherkins  are  juicy  with  brine  in  the  dining-room. 
The  luxuries  of  the  potato  pot  are  not  for  me,  and 
the  exhilarating  imp  that  lurks  in  the  soda-water 
bottle,  shooting  its  cork  up  to  the  ceiling  in  its 
wild  pranks,  will  never  make  me  his  victim." 

"  Do  you  suggest  that  I  condemn  my  guests  to 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  383 

the  fare  which  I  find  suits  myself,  you  rascal?" 
cried  Byron. 

"  I  would  not  do  so  for  the  world,"  said  Vince. 
"  I  was  speaking  in  parables,  assuming  that  your 
lordship  was  vinegar  and  that  my  tastes  were 
oleaginous.  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  my  Lord 
Byron  good-evening,  and  a  bad  appetite  for  din- 
ner. I  am  sure  that  I  could  not  wish  you  any- 
thing more  congenial  to  your  tastes  and  table. 
Good-evening.  We  shall  meet  again  before  long : 
your  lordship  will  begin  to  be  lonely." 

He  took  off  his  hat,  making  a  mock  obeisance, 
and  strolled  away,  having  escorted  Byron  to  the 
door  of  the  mansion. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BYRON  passed  the  rest  of  the  evening  and  far 
into  the  night  roaming  through  Newstead. 
Not  more  than  a  dozen  rooms  in  the  great  man- 
sion attached  to  the  ancient  priory  had  been  fur- 
nished; and  when  he  had  gone  through  all  of 
these,  he  attacked  the  empty  apartments,  the 
greater  number  of  which  he  had  never  before 
entered.  He  had  no  object  in  his  exploration; 
nor  did  he  make  any  important  discovery  of 
missing  wills  or  skeletons  in  cupboards.  He  was 
in  a  gloomy  mood,  and  he  found  his  employment 
a  congenial  one.  Passing  from  room  to  room  and 
from  gloom  to  gloom,  he  arrived  at  last,  carrying 
with  him  a  small  lighted  lantern,  at  a  room  situ- 
ated at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  seven  steps,  which 
curved  in  the  beginning  of  a  spiral  ascent  off  a 
lobby.  The  door  was  locked,  but  the  frame  felt 
so  shaky  when  he  pushed  at  it  that  he  knew  he 
had  only  to  throw  his  weight  against  it  to  send 
the  lock  flying  from  the  rotten  wood. 

He  did  not  find  it  so  easy  as  he  had  thought  it 
would  be  to  effect  an  entrance ;  but  after  two  or 
three  attempts  the  screws  in  the  lock  yielded  and 
the  door  creaked  open,  admitting  him  to  the 
musty  smell  of  a  dungeon.  He  threw  the  light 

384 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  385 

of  his  lantern  round  the  walls,  and  disclosed  the 
enormous  fungus  growths  on  the  plaster— gro- 
tesque splashes  of  curious  colour,  pinks  and 
purples,  greys  and  greens,  some  like  bosses  of 
moss,  others  resembling  gigantic  sponges,  and 
hairy  scalps  hung  up  as  ghastly  trophies.  Plaster 
had  fallen  from  the  ceiling  at  some  distant  period, 
and  a  hillock  of  it  lay  on  the  seat  of  a  chair. 
Another  chair  lay  overturned  on  the  floor,  and  a 
third  leaned  up  against  a  bookcase  on  two  legs. 
There  was  a  writing-table  in  a  corner  and  papers 
were  still  on  it  covered  with  dust.  So  dusty  and 
musty  a  room  he  had  never  been  in.  The  cob- 
webs were  hanging  from  the  broken  ceiling  and 
the  framework  of  the  window  as  tattered  banners 
hang  among  the  tombs  of  a  cathedral. 

An  old  coat  lay  in  tatters  on  the  floor  beneath 
the  peg  from  which  it  had  dropped ;  an  old  pistol 
wanting  a  lock  was  at  his  feet,  and  a  flash  of  his 
lantern  showed  him  the  missing  lock,  with  the 
flint-flake  beside  it,  on  the  mantel-shelf.  It 
seemed  as  if  someone  had  been  interrupted  in  the 
act  of  repairing  the  pistol  and  had  never  returned 
to  complete  his  job.  On  another  part  of  the 
mantel-shelf  there  lay  a  bronze  ornament — a 
figure  of  Time  with  his  scythe,  which  looked  as 
if  it  had  fallen  off  an  old  timepiece.  A  quill  pen 
lay  beside  it. 

Byron  picked  up  the  figure  in  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  and  examined  it  gingerly;  when  in  the 
act  of  laying  it  down  he  found  that  it  had  been 


386  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

used  as  a  paper-weight.  The  paper  which  it  had 
covered  made  a  gleam  of  white  among  the  grime 
of  the  apartment,  like  a  patch  of  snow  on  a  newly 
ploughed  field.  He  held  his  lantern  to  it  and 
found  that  it  contained  writing.  Owing  to  its 
having  been  kept  beneath  the  heavy  paper- 
weight the  caligraphy  was  clean,  and  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  reading  the  words : 

"With  this  sword  in  this  room  I  kill'd  Mr. 
Chaworth  of  Annesley.  Wou'd  to  God  I  had  a 
chaunce  of  dooing  it  agen  a  curs'd  rascall,  Byron. 

"  'Twas  about  Jenny  a  slutt." 

The  sixth  Lord  Byron  read  the  words  which 
his  predecessor  had  written  doubtless  many  years 
before — he  had  no  means  of  knowing  how  many 
years  before.  He  looked  about  for  the  sword  to 
which  the  dainty  inscription  was  to  be  attached, 
— it  did  not  show  any  sign  of  having  ever  been 
attached  to  the  sword, — but  he  failed  to  find  the 
interesting  weapon.  He  stood  with  the  paper  in 
his  fingers  looking  round  the  gloomy  apartment. 
Dust,  dust,  moth  and  rust,  cobweb  bannerets, — 
fitting  relics  of  the  knight  who  had  done  his  kins- 
man to  death  on  the  floor  and  then  left  a  boastful 
record  of  his  own  crime  to  be  read  by  his  successor. 

The  good  knight  is  dust 
And  his  sword  is  rust, 
And  his  soul 

Byron  laughed  as  he  recalled  the  lines.  His 
soul — the  less  that  was  thought  about  the  ultimate 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  387 

destiny  of  the  soul  of  the  fifth  Lord  Byron  the 
better  chance  his  successor  would  have  of  hoping 
he  was  happy.  If  there  was  any  justice  or  judg- 
ment in  heaven  or  earth  he  could  not  be  happy. 
But  was  it  just  that  his  descendants  should  bear 
the  curse  of  his  crimes  ? 

That  was  the  question  which  the  inheritor  of 
Newstead  asked  himself.  His  imagination  was 
strong  enough  to  enable  him  to  see  by  the  fantas- 
tic illumination  of  the  lantern — the  light  shot  out 
through  the  square  glasses,  but  it  was  broken  by 
the  ironwork,  which  was  consequently  thrown  on 
the  walls  in  thick  pillars  of  shadow,  while  the 
little  dome  of  the  roof  filled  nearly  all  the  ceiling 
with  gloom — the  scene  which  had  taken  place  in 
this  very  room.  He  remembered  all  that  Mary 
had  told  him  about  the  duel — it  had  been  called  a 
duel — between  her  grandfather  and  his  grand- 
father's brother;  and  the  features  and  figure  of 
the  painting  by  Gainsborough  hanging  in  the  hall 
at  Annesley  was  ever  vividly  before  him.  He 
saw  Mr.  Chaworth  with  his  sword  drawn  there — 
there,  at  the  wall  near  the  table,  waiting  for  the 
attack  of  his  crafty  antagonist  who,  knowing  the 
room,  would  have  taken  good  care  to  keep  his 
back  to  the  light. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  few  minutes.  Mr.  Chaworth 
was  stabbed  and  lying  in  a  heap  just  where  the 
coat  that  had  fallen  from  the  peg  in  the  wall. was 
lying — it  might  have  been  his  coat  that  lay  there. 
Byron  fancied  he  still  saw  on  the  floor,  in  spite  of 


388  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

the  dust  of  years,  the  dark  stain  left  where  the 
man's  life's  blood  had  ebbed  away. 

There  was  the  sound  of  the  scurrying  of  rats  in 
the  wainscot  and  their  shrill  squeal  about  the 
hearthstone;  the  muffled  hoot  of  the  owls  that 
had  lived  for  perhaps  hundreds  of  years  in  the 
ivy  forest  of  the  old  priory,  but  at  intervals  there 
was  a  dead  silence.  He  fancied  that  he  could 
hear  through  these  silences  the  gasping  of  the 
man  who  lay  dying  on  his  back  on  the  floor. 

And  was  he — he,  Byron,  who  had  never  so 
much  as  seen  the  man  who  had  slain  his  kinsman 
in  this  room — was  he  the  inheritor  of  the  re- 
sponsibility for  this  act  as  well  as  of  the  estates 
of  his  predecessor  at  Newstead?  He  had  been 
cradled  in  the  superstition  of  his  Scotch  relatives, 
and  his  vivid  imagination  added  force  to  all  the 
legends  which  had  been  told  to  him  of  the  effects 
of  "curses"  passed  on  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion of  certain  families  in  the  Highlands.  Re- 
membering as  he  did  how  narrowly  he  had  escaped 
the  fate  of  being  overwhelmed  by  the  falling  pic- 
ture at  Annesley,  he  felt  like  a  man  who  knows 
that  he  is  followed  by  an  inexorable  Fate. 

Was  it  not  this  Fate  that  had  caused  him  to 
learn,  when  standing  at  midnight  before  the  pic- 
ture of  the  murdered  man,  that  Mary  Chaworth, 
whom  he  loved,  loved  him, — to  live  in  a  trance  of 
delight  having  heard  her  confession,  only  to  be 
hurled  into  the  depths  of  disappointment  the  next 
day?  Was  it  not  this  Fate  that  had  brought  him 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  389 

back  to  Newstead  to  find  that  he  felt  for  Mary 
Chaworth  now  the  same  love  that  had  made  his 
Fool's  Paradise  in  the  old  days  a  real  Eden?  And 
to  have  it  suggested  to  him  that  she—  He 
caught  up  his  lantern  and  flung  open  the  door  of 
this  haunted  room,  and  he  was  conscious  of  feeling 
as  one  might  fancy  the  good  knight  felt  who 
succeeded  in  freeing  himself  from  the  spell  cast 
upon  him  by  Morgan  le  Fay.  He  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  would  no  longer  be  bound  by  these 
fantastic  imaginings.  They  had  come  to  him,  he 
tried  to  make  himself  believe,  through  breathing 
the  vile  airs  of  the  room  which  had  not  been 
opened  for  years,  and  inhaling  with  the  musty 
atmosphere  the  morbid  suggestions  made  by  his 
imagination,  stimulated  by  the  story  associated 
with  the  room. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  discard  the  hints 
which  he  had  received  from  Vince  respecting 
Mary  Chaworth  and  her  husband.  He  would 
show  Vince  and  everyone  else  that  he  recognised 
the  force  of  the  existing  fact— that  Mary  Chaworth 
was  a  wife  and  a  mother.  He  would  not  even 
admit  to  himself  that  he  loved  her  still;  but  if 
now  and  again  a  thought  of  his  affection  came  to 
him  he  would  show  to  everyone,  even  to  him- 
self, that  his  love  was  too  true  to  be  otherwise 
than  disinterested— that  his  love  was  worship, 
true  devotion  offered  to  one  whose  nature  was 
such  as  could  have  no  thought  that  was  not  pure. 

With  more  than  one  heroic  resolution  he  went 


39°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

to  his  bed  and  lay  awake  railing  against  Fate  that 
had  condemned  him  to  loneliness — that  loneliness 
which  must  ever  be  his,  living  as  he  was  apart 
from  Mary  Chaworth.  But  when  he  awoke  in 
the  morning  it  was  with  a  sense  of  having  made 
certain  resolutions  to  which  he  would  adhere ;  his 
adherence  to  them  was  essential  not  only  to  his 
own  happiness  and  self-respect,  but  also  to  hers. 
And  before  he  had  finished  his  meagre  break- 
fast he  was  considering  his  chances  of  being  able 
to  see  her  this  day.  The  beauty  of  the  day  had 
an  additional  charm  imparted  to  it  when  he  re- 
flected that  it  was  quite  possible  that  he  might 
meet  Mary  Chaworth  before  evening.  He  re- 
flected that  he  had  not  had  this  thought  since  he 
had  slept  under  her  own  roof ;  he  had  gone  to  his 
bed  after  his  experience  of  her  sleep-walking, 
thinking : 

"7  shall  meet  her  when  the  morning  comes." 
How  many  barren  days  of  his  life  had  passed 
since  then — days  when  he  had  no  prospect  of 
seeing  her?  He  marvelled  greatly  now  how  he 
had  found  it  possible  to  face  such  days  of  barren- 
ness, so  profitless,  so  blank.  But  he  would  not 
deliberately  ride  out  with  the  intention  of  meeting 
her.  He  would  not  go  in  any  direction  that  she 
would  be  likely  to  take  in  driving  or  riding.  He 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  out  through  the 
gates  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction  to  the 
Annesley  road.  He  returned  after  some  hours 
without  having  met  anyone  whom  he  knew.  He 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  391 

was  aware  of  a  certain  feeling  of  satisfaction 
when  he  reflected  upon  his  self-restraint.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  seen  Mary  Chaworth  standing  in  the 
sunlight  beckoning  to  him— well,  if  not  beckon- 
ing to  him,  at  least  awaiting  his  coming,  and  still 
he  had  gone  in  the  opposite  direction. 

But  when  he  had  ridden  out  in  this  way  every 
morning  during  the  week — when  he  had  changed 
his  time  for  riding  to  the  afternoon  without  his 
self-restraint  being  rewarded  by  a  glimpse  of  the 
lady  whom  he  was  trying  to  avoid  yet  hoping  to 
meet,  he  became  greatly  dissatisfied  with  his  luck. 
He  began  to  have  a  suspicion  that  there  was 
something  ostentatious  in  his  repeated  attempts 
to  avoid  meeting  her ;  and  after  a  day  or  two  he 
saw  clearly  that  his  avoidance  of  the  Annesley 
road  was  a  distinct  slur  upon  his  own  honour,  if 
not  by  implication  an  insult  to  the  lady.  Would 
not  an  unprejudiced  person  say  that  it  was  an 
absurd  piece  of  presumption  for  him  to  think  that 
there  was  a  certain  element  of  danger — an  indefin- 
ite element  of  an  undefined  danger,  in  riding  in 
the  direction  of  Annesley? 

He  discovered  that  he  had  been  treating  both 
himself  and  her  very  badly;  and  in  the  force  of 
this  conviction  he  turned  his  horse's  head  toward 
the  Hall.  He  rode  past  the  entrance  gates  and 
on  to  the  turf  beyond  the  boundary  wall  of  the 
park,  and  on  by  the  little  track  through  the 
meadow  lands,  fragrant  with  the  earliest  hay 
crop,  until  he  reached  the  mill  road  leading  up  the 


392  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

gentle  slope.  He  stopped  below  the  mill,  the  ele- 
vation of  the  road  allowing  of  his  seeing  the  roofs 
and  gables  of  Annesley  Hall  and  in  the  distance 
Newstead.  He  was  engaged  in  looking  over  the 
billowy  foliage  of  the  great  elms,  when  he  heard 
a  man's  voice  behind  him  calling  to  his  dogs. 
He  glanced  round  and  saw  a  gentleman  on  horse- 
back with  half  a  dozen  dogs,  setters  and  re- 
trievers, at  his  heels.  He  knew  in  a  moment 
that  the  man  was  Mr.  Musters,  although  he  had 
greatly  changed  during  the  seven  years  that  had 
elapsed  since  he  had  seen  him  by  the  side  of  his 
wife  half  an  hour  after  their  marriage.  His  face 
had  become  larger  and  coarser,  especially  about 
the  mouth.  There  was  a  sensual  curve  at  the 
corners  of  the  lips,  and  the  impression  which  they 
conveyed  was  heightened  by  his  eyes.  He  had 
been  a  handsome  man  long  ago,  though  not  with- 
out suggestions  of  those  defects  which  the  years 
had  made  prominent,  Byron  remembered,  but  he 
was  sure  that  there  were  people  who  would  call 
him  a  handsome  man  still. 

Byron  wheeled  his  horse  about,  and  then  Mus- 
ters recognised  him  and  greeted  him  with  some 
show  of  cordiality. 

"  I  did  n't  see  you  right  at  first  or,  of  course,  I 
should  have  known  you,"  he  said.  "Your  face 
has  n't  changed  much,"  he  added,  with  a  critical 
glance.  "You  are  as  youthful  in  your  looks  as 
when  I  saw  you — I  suppose  it  must  be  six  or 
seven  years  ago;  and  you  are  what  girls  would 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  393 

call  beautiful.  You  know  that,  I'm  sure,  you 
young  dog;  I  hear  that  you  have  been  playing 
havoc  among  the  wenches.  Oh,  we  are  not  so  far 
removed  from  London  but  that  a  rumour  comes 
to  us  now  and  again  of  the  notabilities  of  the 
season.  You  must  tell  me  of  your  adventures  in 
that  direction." 

"You  would  not  find  my  narrative  interest- 
ing, Mr.  Musters,"  said  Byron.  "It  certainly 
would  not  be  stimulating  to  a  gentleman  of  your 
experience." 

Musters  laughed. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  admit  that  I  have  had  some  ex- 
perience," he  said.  "Every  man  of  spirit  has 
much  to  go  through.  The  fact  is,  my  boy,  there 
are  too  many  women  everywhere.  They  can  be 
had  for  the  whistling.  Good  working  setters  are 
much  less  plentiful.  There's  Clio — come  along, 
Clio,  girl,  and  show  yourself" — a  small  black  and 
white  setter  trotted  up — "I  had  to  give  ten 
golden  guineas  for  her  in  the  autumn.  But 
wenches — I  hope  you  have  been  doing  something 
to  advantage  yourself — that's  a  man's  first  duty; 
when  he  has  made  his  position  secure  with  a 
lady  of  property,  he  may  go  his  own  way  after- 
wards and  enjoy  life  as  he  pleases.  With  your 
advantages  you  should  have  no  difficulty  in  get- 
ting an  heiress  at  the  end  of  your  line.  That  old 
rascal  who  was  in  Newstead  before  you  left  the 
place  in  a  shocking  state.  I  hear  that  you  are 
mortgaged  up  to  the  estates." 


394  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Byron  did  not  make  any  response,  he  only 
looked  coldly  at  the  man  beside  him,  who  hastened 
to  reassure  him. 

"Don't  think  that  I  blame  you,"  he  said, 
quickly.  "The  old  reprobate!  He  cut  down 
fifteen  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  trees — the  best 
in  the  park — all  your  property !  I  cannot  under- 
stand how  you  managed  to  keep  yourself  in 
London  as  a  man  of  your  position  should.  The 
only  way  you  can  set  yourself  on  your  feet  is  by 
marrying  an  heiress.  Lord,  sir,  a  young  chap 
like  you  should  have  no  difficulty  in  that  direc- 
tion. Mary  is  the  sort  of  girl  that  would  have 
done  for  you.  Eh,  what — what  are  you  blushing 
about?  Did  you  fancy  that  I  was  about  to  ask 
you  to  take  her  off  my  hands  ?  'T  is  too  late  now, 
I'm  afraid,  for  you  to  hope  to  better  yourself  in 
that  way.  But  that 's  the  kind  of  wife  you  should 
think  of — a  couple  of  good  estates — all  the  farms 
let,  and  ready  to  laugh  at  all  the  frame  breakers 
in  Nottingham.  Be  advised  by  me.  By  the  way, 
someone  said  t'other  day  that  you  had  written 
something  in  a  newspaper — was  it  a  novel  or  a 
copy  of  verses? — hang  me  if  I  remember  which 
it  was.  But  whatever  it  was,  you  '11  have  to  give 
it  up  if  you  intend  to  settle  among  us.  That  sort 
of  stuff  is  not  for  gentlefolk.  You'll  find  us 
exclusive  in  Nottingham." 

"We  have  a  right  to  be  so,  have  we  not,  Mr. 
Musters?"  said  Byron,  looking  smilingly  into  the 
coarse  face  of  the  man  beside  him.  "  We  are  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  395 

flower  of  the  English  aristocracy — we  are  all 
highly  cultivated  gentlemen  whose  names  will  live 
for  ever  as  the  patrons  of  literature  and  the 
devotees  of  all  the  arts." 

"  I  'm  glad  that  you  take  the  right  view  of  the 
case,"  said  Musters.  "Maybe  it  was  all  a  flam 
about  your  having  written  something  or  other. 
People  are  only  too  ready  to  say  anything  that 
will  bring  discredit  upon  a  good  name." 

"Even  among  the  gentry  of  Nottingham?  It 
seems  impossible,  Mr.  Musters,  that  a  slander 
should  find  its  way  among  the  county  families." 

Mr.  Musters  had  no  ear  for  irony.  Few  repre- 
sentatives of  the  county  families  had.  He  smiled 
at  Byron  for  a  callow  young  fool,  but  he  would 
not  be  hard  on  him. 

"  When  you  have  lived  among  us  for  a  year  or 
two  you'll  know  better,"  he  said.  "But  I'm 
devilish  glad  to  learn  that  there  's  no  truth  in  the 
report  that  you  were  given  to  writing  things;  if 
you  were,  it  would  prejudice  people  against  you 
in  the  county.  You  must  come  and  dine  with  us 
some  day  next  week — let  me  see;  Tuesday- 
would  Tuesday  suit  you? — a  family  affair — no  one 
but  yourself;  I'll  put  you  up  to  some  of  the 
tricks  of  our  neighbours.  " 

"  The  temptation  is  too  great  to  be  resisted,  Mr. 
Musters.  I  have  no  engagements.  Are  you  sure 
that  I  shall  not  be  inconveniencing  you?" 

"There  is  always  a  dinner  laid  at  the  Hail- 
that 's  all  I  can  say.  You'll  get— I'm  sorry  that 


396  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

I  must  leave  you  just  now.  I'm  rather  late  for 
an  appointment  that  I  made.  Good-bye  till 
Tuesday.  What  are  those  dogs  about?  Hi-hi! 
Flora,  Clio,  Tom-Tit,  Boney!" 

He  rode  off  whistling  to  his  dogs,  but  evermore 
glancing  rather  anxiously,  Byron  thought,  ahead 
of  him  and  somewhat  to  the  right,  where  there 
was  a  dip  in  the  slope  beyond  the  mill  road,  and  a 
small  plantation  of  larches.  Byron  looked  in  the 
same  direction  after  Musters  had  disappeared 
round  the  curve  of  the  mill  road.  He  saw,  after 
a  short  space  of  time,  that  Musters  had  jumped 
his  horse  over  the  low  bank  and  was  trotting 
leisurely  toward  the  little  plantation. 

He  fancied  he  saw  something  of  white  moving 
about  among  the  trees — it  might  have  been  a 
woman's  dress,  but  it  was  not  impossible  that  it 
should  be  the  black  and  white  setter,  or  perhaps 
a  stray  sheep  newly  washed.  He  was  ready  to 
admit  the  two  last-named  possibilities,  even 
though  his  doing  so  made  it  necessary  that  he 
should  believe  it  possible  for  the  animals  to  be 
walking  among  branches  that  hung  five  feet  above 
the  ground. 

After  all,  it  might  only  have  been  the  miller 
with  whom  Mr.  Musters  had  his  appointment 
among  the  larches. 

Byron  wheeled  his  horse  and  rode  slowly  back 
to  Newstead. 


CHAPTER  V 

HE  came  upon  Vince  on  horseback  before  he 
was  within  view  of  the  outlying  trees  of  the 
park. 

"  By  what  luck  have  you  come  upon  this  road? " 
Vince  inquired.  "You  went  in  the  other  di- 
rection every  day  during  the  week?" 

"Would  it  not  strike  you  that  it  was  just 
because  I  have  been  five  times  in  the  other 
direction  I  am  in  this  direction  to-day?"  said 
Byron. 

"  That  would  be  the  reasoning  of  the  gamester, 
but  I  have  learned  that  a  man's  heart  beats  inde- 
pendently of  all  systems  that  the  heart  of  man 
has  yet  devised." 

"  And  that  is  what  brings  me  here?  "  said  Byron, 
smiling. 

"No;  that  was  what  brought  Mrs.  Musters  to 
Newstead,"  replied  Vince. 

Byron  was  startled  and,  as  usual,  he  flushed— 
the  second  time  within  an  hour. 

"  What !     Mrs.  Musters  ? "  he  cried. 

"Driving  in  her  chaise  with  a  pair  of  horses, 
two  footmen,  her  elder  little  girl,  and  her  governess 
—a  fan-faced  pattern  of  propriety,  prudery  over- 
starched,  Sims  by  name,"  said  Vince. 

397 


398  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Byron  sat  on  his  horse  and  was  thoughtful  for 
some  moments.  Then  he  said: 

"It  was  a  formal  visit;  but  I  am  sorry  that  I 
missed  seeing — my  cousin.  My  encountering  Mr. 
Musters,  as  I  did,  does  not  make  up  for  my 
deprivation." 

"  I  had  prepared  you  for  him ;  a  popular  man — 
a  hearty  manner — jovial  over  his  first  bottle — 
petulant  over  his  second — a  negro  over  his  third, 
but,  oh,  a  popular  man !  making  his  friends  laugh 
and  his  wife  weep,  and  equally  indifferent  to  both. 
He  asked  you  to  dinner?" 

"  How  did  you  know?  Were  you  at  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge  ?  I  begin  to  think  that  you  are 
behind  most  hedges  in  the  county." 

"That  is  his  warm  heart.  He  keeps  his  heart 
over  a  chafing-dish  spirit  lamp,  and  shows  it 
smoking  to  strangers.  '  How  d'ye  do '  is  his  first 
word,  and  'dinner'  is  his  next,  and  'hang  you!' 
his  third.  He  sometimes  forgets  his  invitations, 
and  is  angry  because  the  strangers  whom  he  bids 
to  his  table  ring  his  hall-door  bell.  Ha !  you  are 
thinking  that  I  have  opened  the  door  of  a  room 
full  of  sunlight  for  you." 

"That  was,  I  admit,  what  dazzled  me  for  a 
second  or  two,"  said  Byron.  "You  open  your 
doors  too  suddenly  in  the  face  of  one  who  is 
standing  in  the  gloom  of  the  hall,  Vince.  But  I 
think  we  shall  find  that  when  the  door  of  that 
room  of  sunshine  is  opened  for  me,  the  portly 
figure  of  Mr.  Musters  will  darken  the  entrance." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  399 

"  His  figure  is  capable  of  shutting  out  a  good 
deal  of  sunshine,"  said  Vince.  "  At  any  rate,  you 
have  promised  to  dine  at  his  table,  whether  he  is 
present  or  absent.  Have  you  made  up  your  mind 
to  relax  the  rigidity  of  your  diet  for  that  evening? " 

"I  have  not  thought  anything  about  that," 
replied  Byron.  "  Is  Mr.  Musters  one  of  those  men 
who  make  a  fuss  over  their  guests'  eating  and 
drinking?  I  have  heard  of  duels  being  fought  and 
households  shattered  simply  because  a  guest  de- 
clined a  second  bottle  of  claret." 

"  There 's  another  vista  flooded  with  sunset  for 
you:  the  prospect  of  fighting  Mr.  Musters,"  said 
Vince.  "What  a  pity  it  seems  that  the  pistol 
bullet  which  would  remove  so  many  obstructions 
from  a  path  to  prosperity  should  be  withheld!" 

"Make  your  mind  easy,  friend  Vince,"  said 
Byron.  "I  shall  not  give  the  man  a  chance  of 
complaining.  I  showed  some  gentlemen  in  Lon- 
don the  other  day  that  I  was  not  the  milksop  they 
took  me  for.  I  can  drink  wine  when  I  please  with 
the  best  of  them.  I  am  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Musters. 
By  the  bye,  he  was  considerate  enough  to  lecture 
me  to-day  on  my  deportment  among  the  gentry 
of  the  county.  It  appears  that  a  report  got 
abroad— I  have  no  idea  how— that  I  had  written 
and  published  something.  There  is  a  difference  of 
opinion  as  to  the  shape  that  my  offence  assumed 
-whether  it  was  a  poem  in  a  newspaper  or  a 
pamphlet  in  prose— it  had  even  come  to  Mr. 
Musters's  ears.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that 


400  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

if  there  was  any  truth  in  the  rumour  I  must  be 
careful  never  to  repeat  the  offence.  My  position 
among  the  gentry  would  be  prejudiced  by  such 
an  act." 

Vince  screwed  up  his  face  into  an  expression 
resembling  a  smile. 

"It  will  be  an  amusing  dinner  if  your  host 
should  put  in  an  appearance,"  said  he.  "What 
will  your  topics  of  conversation  be? — and  after 
you  have  both  finished  a  bottle  or  two,  and  the 
restraints  of  sobriety  have  vanished,  what  will 
happen  then  ?  Ha !  I  would  that  it  were  possible 
for  me  to  be  present !  The  material  that  I  should 
collect  for  my  comedy  of  life  would  be  invaluable. 
My  mouth  waters  in  anticipation  of  the  scene. 
I  would  call  the  chapter  'The  Amalgamation  of 
Incongruities." 

But  Byron  became  grave.  He  assured  Mr. 
Vince  that  he  need  not  anticipate  any  contretemps 
at  Mr.  Musters 's  dinner  table. 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  be  able  to  make  myself  at  home  even  in 
the  midst  of  the  least  congenial  society,"  said  he 
coldly. 

"I  ask  your  lordship's  pardon,"  said  Vince, 
parodying  his  coldness,  but  with  a  very  light 
touch  and  no  sting  of  offence.  "I  quite  forgot 
for  the  moment  that  I  was  addressing  Byron  the 
traveller — Byron  the  idol  of  society  in  town- 
Byron,  who,  it  is  said,  has  set  a  new  fashion  for 
dandy dom.  Your  lordship's  dinner  with  Mr. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  401 

Musters  cannot  be  other  than  a  function  of 
mingled  vigour  and  vivacity.  You  will  tell  me 
of  it — if  you  should  survive." 

"  You  seem  to  have  at  hand  so  many  sources  of 
information  regarding  all  occurrences,  it  will,  I 
am  convinced,  be  quite  unnecessary  for  me  to 
give  you  any  account  of  so  simple  an  affair," 
replied  Byron. 

Having  ridden  back  to  Newstead,  Byron  waved 
his  hand  to  his  companion  and  put  his  horse  to  a 
gallop  upon  the  turf  of  the  park. 

He  thought  more  during  that  evening  of  the 
visit  that  Mrs.  Musters  had  paid  to  Newstead 
than  he  did  of  the  invitation  which  had  been 
given  to  him  by  her  husband.  He  perceived 
quite  clearly  that,  although  Mary  had  parted 
from  him  with  an  abruptness  that  suggested  a 
great  deal  to  him,  she  had  come  to  the  same  con- 
clusion as  he  had  arrived  at  respecting  their  rela- 
tions. She  was  determined  that  they  should  meet 
and  associate  as  cousins,  and  that  they  should 
both  treat  the  past,  now  so  long  distant,  as  if  it 
had  been  nothing  more  than  a  dream.  She  had 
visited  him  with  her  child  in  order  to  make  the 
first  move  in  this  direction,  and  she  looked  for 
him  to  return  her  visit  on  the  same  basis  of  friend- 
ship—the informal  friendship  of  kinsfolk.  Nothing 
could  be  more  satisfactory  than  the  adoption  of 
such  a  course,  he  thought;  and  it  was  in  this 
spirit  that  he  drove  to  Annesley  Hall  on  the  Tues- 
day for  which  Mr.  Musters  had  invited  him. 


402  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

Once  more  he  stood  in  the  hall  face  to  face  with 
the  picture  by  the  great  painter;  but  he  now 
gazed  at  it  in  surprise,  for  the  expression  of  the 
man's  face  seemed  altogether  different  from  what 
his  memory  told  him  it  had  been.  His  recollec- 
tion of  it  was  of  a  stern  man ;  there  had  certainly 
been  a  grave  look  in  his  eyes ;  but  now  it  seemed 
that  the  face  wore  a  smile. 

He  was  still  standing  in  front  of  the  picture 
when  Mary  appeared.  She  was  coming  down  the 
stairs,  and  when  he  turned  toward  her  his  memory 
went  back  in  a  flash  to  the  night  when  he  had 
seen  her  on  them  moving  like  a  white  ghost 
through  the  faint  light  to  make  her  petition  to 
the  picture.  When  she  came  to  him  now,  sending 
his  memory  flying  back  through  the  years  that 
had  changed  him  from  a  boy  to  a  man,  he  knew 
the  truth  of  his  own  heart :  he  looked  at  her  now 
as  he  had  looked  at  her  then — with  the  same  love 
— the  same  adoration.  All  his  resolutions  in  re- 
gard to  that  friendship  which  he  had  cherished 
coldly  for  some  days  were  swept  away  in  that  flood 
of  recollections  that  came  over  him  in  the  space 
between  her  reaching  the  lobby  and  the  last  step. 

"At  last  you  are  here,"  she  cried,  when  he  had 
put  both  his  hands  out  to  her.  "  At  last,  my  dear 
Cousin  Byron.  Does  it  seem  as  if  a  month  had 
passed  since  we  were  here  together?  You  re- 
member the  picture — I  saw  you  looking  at  it  when 
I  was  on  the  stairs.  You  have  run  many  chances 
of  a  violent  death,  I  have  no  doubt,  since  you  were 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  403 

threatened  by  my  ancestor.  I  think  you  may 
take  it  for  granted  that  he  will  not  menace  you 
again." 

"That  was  my  feeling  when  I  came  directly 
upon  him  just  now, ' '  said  Byron.  "  I  fancied  that 
he  looked  upon  me  more  benevolently  than  he  did 
when  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  Look  at  him 
closely,  Mary ;  does  he  not  seem  to  wear  a  smile 
which  was  not  so  before?" 

She  glanced  sideways  at  the  picture  and  shook 
her  head. 

"I  complete  the  quotation  which  you  began, 
and  say,  'There's  no  such  thing,'"  she  cried. 

"You  think  my  memory  was  at  fault?" 

"  I  think  that  if  you  were  to  see  Dr.  Drury  at 
Harrow  now,  you  would  find  that  he  was  quite 
benign,  'which  was  not  so  before.'  It  is  not  safe 
to  trust  implicitly  to  one's  memory  in  the  matter 
of  expression,  especially  when  one  is  imaginative. 
After  I  told  you  the  story  of  my  grandfather,  I 
am  sure  that  your  imagination  gave  a  severity  to 
his  expression  that  Gainsborough  never  intended 
to  be  there.  I  must  confess  that  I  myself,  after 
the  accident  to  the  picture,  could  not  look  at  him 
without  a  sort  of  dread :  I  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing what  he  would  do  next.  When  I  heard  the 
sound  of  the  carpenters'  hammers  and  chisels 
bolting  the  frame  to  the  wall  I  felt  more  at  my 
ease.  Still,  I  never  caught  him  in  the  act  of 
smiling." 

Byron  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  picture. 


404  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

He  was  thinking  of  the  white  figure  of  the  maiden 
whom  he  had  seen  kneeling  where  he  was  now 
standing.  He  turned  and  looked  at  Mary.  To 
his  eyes  she  seemed  less  changed  than  the  picture. 
His  memory  of  her  proved  more  faithful  than  his 
recollection  of  the  portrait. 

"I  am  superstitious,"  he  said.  "I  am  a  be- 
liever in  curses — family  curses.  You  know  it  was 
said  that  a  malediction  was  laid  upon  Newstead. 
The  Abbot  returned  from  his  visit  to  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  without  knowing  that  the  King  had  con- 
fiscated the  property  of  the  Church.  He  walked 
through  the  woods  to  the  door  of  the  Priory  only 
to  find  it  locked  and  sealed  and  the  friars  dis- 
persed. The  story  is  that  he  died  alone  in  the 
woods  the  same  night." 

"  But  he  was  too  holy  a  man  to  lay  his  curse 
upon  the  place  in  his  last  hours." 

"  He  may  not  have  spoken  it ;  but  look  at  New- 
stead  to-day — think  of  the  fate  of  the  family  that 
inherited  it." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  anything  in  their 
fate  to  make  it  certain  that  the  Abbot  laid  his 
malediction  upon  them.  I  only  think  of  the  in- 
heritor whose  name  will  make  the  name  of  New- 
stead  immortal.  What  do  you  fancy,  that  there 
is  a  double  curse  laid  on  the  place — the  first  being 
that  of  the  poor  old  Abbot,  the  second  that  of  my 
unfortunate  grandfather?" 

"Some  nights  ago,"  said  Byron,  "I  took  to 
wandering  through  the  old  house,  and  after  going 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  405 

into  many  uninteresting  rooms  I  reached  one  that 
did  not  seem  to  have  been  opened  for  years.  The 
lock  was  rusty  and  there  was  no  key;  but  the 
wood-work  had  rotted  away  about  the  bolt  so 
that  the  door  burst  open  when  I  set  my  shoulder 
against  it.  You  never  saw  such  a  vault  as  lay 
beyond  the  door.  The  dust  felt  under  my  feet 
like  a  Turkish  carpet.  Cobwebs — they  hung 
from  the  ceiling  like  the  drooping  sails  of  a  caique. 
The  place  seemed  as  uninteresting  as  the  other 
rooms  until  I  found  on  the  mantelpiece,  pro- 
tected by  a  bronze  ornament,  a  slip  of  paper 
signed  by  my  predecessor ;  it  was  evidently  meant 
to  be  attached  to  a  sword,  for  it  contained  a  state- 
ment that  the  writer  had  killed  with  that  sword 
Mr.  Chaworth,  and  an  expression  of  regret  that 
he  could  do  it  only  once." 

"And  you  found  the  sword?"  said  Mary,  in  a 
whisper.  She  had  plainly  been  startled  by  his 
story. 

"I  searched  in  every  corner,  but  without  suc- 
cess," he  replied.  "It  seemed  as  if  the  good  old 
man  was  setting  his  house  in  order  during  his  last 
days,  and  had  prepared  a  label  to  fasten  on  to 
the  sword  lest  his  successors  should  look  on  it  as 
an  ordinary  weapon.  It  clearly  caused  him  some 
uneasiness  in  his  last  hours  to  think  that  possibly 
he  should  not  be  known  to  posterity  as  a  mur- 
derer. I  suppose  he  must  have  died  before  he 
was  able  to  tie  on  his  callous  confession." 

Mary  shook  her  head  and  looked  up  to  the 


406  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

features  of  the  picture.  There  was  a  hint  of  fear 
in  her  own  face. 

"You  see  the  way  he  smiles  now?"  said  Byron. 
"  You  cannot  but  see  his  expression.  It  is  not  in 
the  least  like  what  it  used  to  be.  It  is  the  ex- 
pression of  a  man  who  is  confident  that  he  will 
eventually  succeed  in  what  he  has  set  himself 
to  do."  ' 

"  And  what  do  you  fancy  that  he  has  set  him- 
self to  do?"  she  asked,  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  God  knows — perhaps  we  too  shall  know  some 
day,"  said  Byron. 

She  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  picture.  Then 
she  rose  quickly  from  her  seat,  saying : 

"Let  us  go  into  the  drawing-room.  Why 
should  we  allow  ourselves  to  get  into  this  gloomy 
train  of  thought?  I  am  no  believer  in  these 
superstitions,  and  you  must  try  not  to  yield  to 
them,  Byron.  The  drawing-room  is  a  more  cheer- 
ful place  than  this.  I  cannot  think  what  can  be 
keeping  Mr.  Musters.  He  has  been  absent  for  a 
day  or  two  on  business ;  I  looked  for  him  to  return 
earlier  in  the  day.  I  reminded  him  before  he  left 
that  you  were  to  dine  with  us." 

Byron  followed  her  into  the  drawing-room. 
Her  slight  figure  was  that  of  a  girl.  Seeing  her 
walking  in  front  of  him  he  felt  that  she  was  but 
returning  to  the  piano  after  calling  him  her  Min- 
strel Boy.  Surely  an  hour  had  not  passed  since 
she  had  sung  that  song  for  him ! 

"  I  seem  to  be  going  into  a  place  of  magical 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  407 

echoes,"  said  he.  "The  strains  of  The  Minstrel 
Boy  have  not  yet  died  away  into  silence.  I  can 
still  hear  the  triumphant  notes  at  the  close.  But 
I  have  heard  your  voice  singing  that  song  when 
I  have  been  in  strange  places,  Mary.  At  sea  by 
night,  far  away  from  land,  I  have  awakened  and 
heard  the  sound  of  your  singing  hovering  above 
me ;  and  on  some  of  those  strangely  lovely  islands 
of  the  vEgean  you  have  been  my  Ariel." 

"Only  without  the  power  to  serve  you  as 
Prospero,"  said  she. 

"Do  not  say  that , "  he  cried .  ' '  Serve  me  ?  Can 
I  ever  forget  the  service  that  you  did  me?  Was 
it  not  you  who  flung  open  the  gate  through  which 
I  passed  into  a  realm  of  romance  and  poetry? 
Serve  me?  When  I  have  been  in  doubt,  in  de- 
spair, your  voice  has  come  to  me : 

"'Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free, 
They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  '- 

Those  were  the  words  of  your  charter  to  me,  when 
you  called  me  your  Minstrel,  and  I  know  that, 
whatever  people  may  say  of  my  singing  now  or 
to  come— however  greatly  they  may  despise  my 
songs  and  deride  my  subjects— they  will  say, '  He 
was  on  the  side  of  Liberty— he  sang  out  of  love 
for  Freedom.'  ' 

"  And  so  you  will  remain  while  you  live,  Cousin 
Byron,  and  when  you  are  dead  your  songs  shall 
inspire  the  faint  and  the  feeble  to  work  out  their 
own  salvation.  In  your  last  poem,  only  a  few 


408  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

weeks  old,  there  are  some  lines  that  will  ever  be 
looked  on  as  the  watchword  of  those  who  are 
striving  for  the  overthrow  of  tyranny : 

'"And  Freedom's  battle  once  begun, 
Bequeathed  from  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Though  baffled  oft  is  ever  won.' 

Those  are  inspiring  words,  Byron.  I  myself — I 
have  felt  inspired  by  them.  Only  the  trumpet 
call  that  inspires  a  man  to  action  inspires  a  woman 
to  patience.  War  is  for  man — waiting  is  for 
woman." 

She  turned  from  him  to  the  window.  She 
walked  across  the  room  and  stood  against  the 
flowered  damask  of  one  of  the  curtains,  looking 
vaguely  out  to  the  park.  The  western  sun  was 
touching  the  topmost  boughs  with  red. 

It  took  him  some  moments  to  appreciate  fully 
the  force  of  her  words — their  application  to 
herself. 

The  moment  that  he  perceived  her  meaning  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  saying : 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that  anything  I 
wrote  inspired  man  or  woman  to  be  patient  in 
submission  to  tyranny." 

She  looked  at  him  and  smiled  gently,  shaking 
her  head. 

"There  are  tyrannies  from  which  no  escape  is 
possible;  a  woman  only  knows  of  them,  and  a 
woman  if  she  prays  aright  will  pray  only  for 
patience — patience — patience,"  she  said. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  409 

"  That  is  the  creed  of  the  harem,"  cried  Byron. 
"Patience  behind  the  screen — submission  to  the 
bow-string  and  the  Bosphorus.  It  should  not  be 
the  creed  of  Christian  women.  There  are  tyran- 
nies that  no  woman  should  bring  herself  to  bear — 
indignities  that  her  own  sense  of  self-respect 
should " 

She  held  up  a  finger  to  him,  but  without  look- 
ing toward  him.  He  stopped  in  a  second.  There 
was  sudden  silence  in  the  room.  From  the  shrub- 
beries came  the  six-note  call  of  a  blackbird. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  stood  behind  her  at 
the  curtain. 

"Dearest  Mary,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "you 
are  unhappy.  When  I  saw  you  on  the  day  of  my 
return  I  felt  that  you  were  unhappy — you  who 
deserve  to  know  nothing  but  happiness — you  who 
have  such  sensibility  as  causes  you  to  feel  every- 
thing with  double  the  intensity  of  an  ordinary 
woman." 

She  made  no  reply  to  him.  She  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  red  light  on  the  foliage. 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that? "  he  said.  "  Is  it  so  bad 
that  you  cannot  even  seek  to  relieve  yourself  of 
its  burden  by  telling  me  of  it?  Are  not  you 
assured  that  I  shall  be  sympathetic  with  your 
unhappiness  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  turning  to  him  and  giving 
him  her  hand.  "No,  indeed.  I  cannot  doubt 
your  sympathy,  but  ...  oh,  it  is  too  late 
now  to  say  anything,  even  to  you.  If  you  have 


410  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

any  feeling  for  me — and  I  know  that  you  have 
much — you  will  help  me " 

"  Help  you — tell  me  how — with  my  life " 

"  You  have  gone  on  too  fast ;  you  can  help  me, 
but  only  to  pray  for  patience — for  submission." 

He  dropped  her  hand  so  suddenly  as  to  suggest 
that  he  was  flinging  it  from  him. 

"Never — never!"  he  cried.  ''Mine  shall  never 
be  the  voice  that  will  join  with  yours  in  such 
a  prayer.  Patience!  Submission!  Good  God! 
these  are  not  words  for  such  as  you!  I  will  not 
hear  them  from  your  lips." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  face  as  if  her 
thoughts  had  become  visible  and  she  was  trying 
to  shut  them  out  even  from  her  own  eyes.  She 
took  a  few  hasty  steps  from  the  window. 

"Do  not  talk  to  me  any  more — oh,  for  God's 
sake,  do  not  talk  to  me  any  more.  I  tell  you  it 
is  too  late  to  say  anything.  There  are  things  that 
cannot  be  changed  by  much  speaking ;  then  why 
speak  of  them?  I  tell  you  that  silence — submis- 
sion— these  are  a  woman's  best  friends." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  Mary  Chaworth,  that— 

"May  I  trouble  you  to  pull  that  bell-rope,"  she 
said,  regaining  her  usual  calm  voice  by  a  marvel- 
lous effort.  "  It  is  already  three  quarters  past  our 
dinner  hour.  We  shall  wait  no  longer." 

It  seemed  as  if  Byron's  words  to  her  were  be- 
ginning to  bear  fruit.  She  was  no  longer  so  sub- 
missive as  she  had  been. 

He  pulled  the  bell-rope,  and  when  a  servant 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  411 

responded  she  gave  the  order  for  dinner  to  be 
served. 

"Mr.  Musters  has  surely  been  detained,  and 
without  the  means  of  sending  a  letter  to  apprise 
me  of  it  and  to  apologise  to  you,"  she  said,  in  the 
formal  tone  of  a  hostess.  It  sounded  very  cold, 
and  there  was  in  it  a  suggestion  of  rebuke  to  him 
for  his  warmth.  Byron  knew  perfectly  well  that 
if  Mr.  Musters  were  accidentally  delayed  in  his 
business,  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  apprise 
his  wife  of  the  fact  or  to  apologise  to  his  guest. 

He  said  nothing,  but  awaited  in  the  silent  room 
the  announcement  of  the  butler  that  dinner  was 
served.  He  gave  her  his  arm  and  they  went  in 
silence  to  the  dining-room. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HE  felt  that  he  had  never  known  anything  so 
sad  in  all  his  life  as  her  acting  of  the  part 
of  the  genial  hostess  upon  this  occasion.  The 
ease  with  which  she  adopted  the  role  in  the 
presence  of  the  servants  showed  him  with  pitiless 
plainness  how  accustomed  she  had  become  to  this 
part.  She  played  it  with  the  ease  of  an  actress 
who  had  appeared  many  times  in  the  same  charac- 
ter. His  quick  imagination  enabled  him  to  per- 
ceive that  only  by  long  practice  could  she  obtain 
such  dexterity  as  she  displayed  and  he  felt  deeply 
for  her.  She  had  schooled  herself  to  go  through 
the  incidents  of  her  daily  life  giving  no  sign  of 
suffering.  A  few  minutes  ago  she  had  let  him 
see  what  was  in  her  heart,  and  yet  now  she  was 
chatting  to  him  with  ease  and  vivacity. 

He  admired  her  and  pitied  her  with  all  his  soul. 

He  tried  to  imitate  her — to  catch  some  of  her 
spirit,  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  partial  success 
only.  His  vivacity  was  too  studied.  He  felt  that 
the  servants  could  see  the  strings  hanging  down 
behind  that  tied  on  the  mask  of  comedy  which 
he  had  assumed. 

What  did  they  talk  about?  The  East,  of 
course,  to  start  with.  What  monsters  the  Turks 

412 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  413 

were!  What  a  pity  it  was  that  Bonaparte  had 
not  done  civilisation  a  good  turn  by  attacking 
them  and  sweeping  them  out  of  Europe  and  then 
getting  killed  himself  before  he  had  devastated  so 
much  of  the  world!  Where  were  the  Turks  to  be 
swept?  Oh,  anywhere — was  not  the  Bosphorus 
deep  enough,  or  was  it  being  filled  up  with  the 
bodies  of  sultanas  in  sacks  ?  .  .  .  The  Helles- 
pont— he  had  really  swum  the  Hellespont?  Not 
so  great  a  feat  that  of  Leander,  after  all  ?  The  lady 
must  have  been  rather  heartless,  did  he  not  think? 
or  was  she  faulty  in  the  other  direction?  .  .  . 

And  Greece — why  should  the  Greeks  be  always 
waiting  for  someone  to  do  something  for  them? 
Why  should  they  not  do  something  for  them- 
selves? Were  they  content  to  be  the  "  bondsmen 
of  a  slave  "  ?  Surely  the  lines  in  The  Giaour  would 
thrill  them.  Surely  a  people  with  so  magnificent 
a  past — 

There  was  the  sound  of  horses  and  a  chaise 
passing  the  windows. 

"Mr.  Musters  at  last!"  cried  Mary.  "He  is 
too  earnest  a  man  of  business ;  he  has  lost  many 
a  meal  by  his  tenacity  over  a  lease.  Luckily  we 
have  treated  you  as  one  of  the  family,  Cousin 
Byron.  If  we  were  having  a  dinner-party  he 
would " 

Voices  came  from  the  hall,  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Musters,  loud,  boisterous,  encouraging — the  sort 
of  voice  that  comes  to  one  with  the  impression  of 
a  hearty  pat  on  the  back,— and  mingling  with  it, 


4i 4  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

another  voice,  shrill,  feminine,  with  a  shriek  of 
laughter. 

Mary  turned  white  and  straightened  herself  in 
her  chair.  Her  eyes  were  flashing. 

The  door  was  flung  open  and  Mr.  Musters  and  a 
lady,  still  laughing  loud  and  long, — a  merry  but 
discordant  duet, — bustled  into  the  room.  She 
had  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  him  behind  her  hand 
before  she  had  gone  far  beyond  the  doorway; 
he,  following  very  close  upon  her,  jerked  his  head 
forward  to  hear,  and,  responding,  there  was  an- 
other burst  of  laughter. 

The  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table  had  not  risen 
at  the  entrance  of  their  visitor,  and  the  visitor 
advanced,  the  plumes  in  her  immense  hat  nodding 
as  she  walked,  and  Mr.  Musters  making  heavy 
strides  behind. 

They  both  spoke  at  the  same  instant,  and  both 
much  louder  than  was  necessary. 

"What!  Byron!  Heavens  above  us!  was  it 
for  this  evening  I  asked  you?"  cried  Mr.  Musters. 

"I  am  very  ungenteel,  dear  Mrs.  Musters,  but 
'twas  all  Mr.  Musters 's  fault,"  the  lady  was  say- 
ing at  the  same  moment,  only  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table. 

Mrs.  Musters  had  dropped  her  napkin  on  the 
floor  to  the  left  of  her  chair — the  stranger  was 
advancing  from  the  right.  She  stooped  to  pick 
it  up  when  the  lady  stretched  out  her  hand,  and, 
taking  a  long  time  to  find  the  napkin,  Mrs.  Mus- 
ters gave  her  an  opportunity — of  which  she  availed 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  415 

herself — to  withdraw  her  hand  unshaken.  She 
did  not  do  so,  however,  without  a  sniff  and  a 
flounce.  She  was  a  large,  florid  woman — a  crea- 
ture of  noble  contours — opulent ;  splendid  hair  of 
two  distinct  shades ;  large  arms  and  round  teeth 
well  displayed,  filling  up  the  ruby  oval  of  parted 
lips. 

"Mrs.  Musters,"  said  the  master,  "I  had  no 
chance  of  preparing  you,  but  that  matters  nothing ; 
I  told  Mrs.  Ramsden  that  she  would  be  welcome. 
Heavens  above  us!  you  should  see  the  mess  that 
the  builders  and  carpenters  and  painters  and  Lord 
knows  what  else  have  made  of  her  house.  She 's 
spending  some  money  over  it — ah,  the  pickings 
that  these  Indian  nabobs  get  at  the  court  of  the 
Great  Mogul!  Money!  What's  money  to  an 
officer  of  the  Honourable  Company  with  as  many 
chances  as  Warren  Hastings,  the  rascal,  had  of 
getting  on  in  the  world?  Eh,  my  Lord  Byron? 
But  I'm  forgetting  my  manners.  Let  me  have 
the  honour,  Mrs.  Ramsden;  this  is  our  young 
friend  and  kinsman,  Lord  Byron.  Eh,  what,  you 
young  jackanapes ! " 

"Pardon  me,  sir;  Mrs.  Musters  has  finished 
dinner;  I  must  conduct  her  to  the  door,"  said 
Byron.  He  had  risen  suddenly  while  his  host  was 
still  speaking— that  accounted  for  the  "jacka- 
napes"— and  he  was  in  time  to  offer  his  arm  to 
Mary,  who,  with  her  eyes  fixed  coldly  on  the  door, 
had  left  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table.  She 
never  looked  at  either  her  husband  or  the  visitor. 


416  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

But  both  her  husband  and  the  visitor  looked  at 
her,  silently,  but  with  expressions  on  their  faces 
that  suggested  a  volcano. 

Byron  bowed  to  Mary  at  the  door  and  returned 
to  his  place. 

"Now,  Mr.  Musters,  we  will  talk  about  that 
jackanapes,"  he  said  quietly. 

Mr.  Musters  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  Mrs. 
Ramsden  leaned  up  against  the  table,  smiling; 
somehow  her  smile  seemed  louder  than  his  laugh. 

"  Heavens  above  us !  the  lad  is  as  ready  to  run 
me  through  the  weasand  as  his  granduncle  was 
the  Chaworth  of  his  day,"  roared  Mr.  Musters. 
"But  I'll  take  care  that  you  don't  do  it.  I'll 
apologise  for  the  word  with  all  my  soul ;  and  I  '11 
swear  to  you  that  it  was  unintentional;  it  was, 
after  all,  your  punctilio  that  called  for  it — in  mis- 
take, mind ;  you  jumped  up  from  your  chair  into 
my  very  face,  and  I  had  a  notion  that  you  meant 
to  put  a  slight  upon  one  of  the  most  charming 
ladies  in  the  county — that's  you,  Mrs.  Ramsden 
— you  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Molly  Ramsden  in  St. 
James's,  I  swear,  Byron?" 

Mrs.  Ramsden  was  looking  very  roguishly  at 
Byron,  and  Byron  laughed  in  response. 

"Mrs.  Ramsden 's  charms  are  toasted  nightly 
at  White's,"  said  he,  bowing  to  the  lady,  who 
made  a  splendid  courtesy  to  him,  all  her  jewelry 
shivering  and  tinkling  in  the  act. 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  you  are  a  desperate  flatterer,  as 
everyone  knows,"  she  cried,  even  before  she  had 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  417 

wholly  regained  her  feet.  "For  myself,  I  vow 
that  I  have  never  felt  so  nattered  in  all  my  life 
as  I  am  now  to  receive  the  attention  of  the  noble 
poet  whom  to  read  is  to  adore  and  to  behold  is  to 
worship." 

"Madam,  all  the  honour  is  on  my  side,"  said 
Byron,  and  he  was  sure  that  he  spoke  the  bare 
truth. 

"Hullo,  what's  this— what's  this?"  cried  Mr. 
Musters.  "Poet— poet!  Didn't  you  deny  the 
report  t'  other  day  when  I  taxed  you  with  it?" 

Byron  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  taxed  me  with  any- 
thing in  particular,"  he  said.  "But  if  you  did 
and  if  I  denied  it,  I'll  stand  by  my  denial  now." 

"It  is  only  among  barbarians  like  you,  Mr. 
Musters,  that  the  name  of  the  noble  Lord  Byron 
is  not  known  as  a  poet,"  said  Mrs.  Ramsden, 
striking  Mr.  Musters  playfully  with  her  folded  fan 
— she  had  been  using  the  fan  pretty  freely  on  her 
face,  but  the  exertion  more  than  neutralised  the 
soothing  effects  of  the  current  of  air. 

"  But  I  did  hear  something  of  it,  but  I  warned 
him  that  it  would  not  do  for  us,  and  he  disclaimed 
the  poetry,"  said  Mr.  Musters. 

"I  can  furnish  you  with  the  assurances  of  a 
number  of  newspapers  that  I  am  no  poet,"  said 
Byron.  "They  defend  me  most  convincingly 
against  such  a  charge.  I  am  sometimes  at  the 
point  of  believing  in  my  own  innocence." 

Mrs.  Ramsden  laughed,  and  said  very  archly 


4i 8  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

that  for  her  part  she  was  certain  that  Lord  Byron 
was  a  wicked  man — wickeder  even  than  people 
said;  and  Byron  said  that  his  head  would  be 
turned  if  he  listened  to  her  sad  flatteries.  Mr. 
Musters  looked  from  the  one  to  the  other  in  a 
puzzled  way.  He  had  a  sort  of  consciousness  that 
he  was  being  made  fun  of,  so  he  swore  against  the 
servants  for  the  delay  in  re-serving  the  joints 
which  had  been  removed  before  his  arrival  with 
his  visitor.  He  had  ordered  the  butler  to  see  that 
fresh  plates  were  brought;  and  now  he  gave  the 
bell-rope  a  pull  to  show  the  kitchen  that  he  was 
not  to  be  trifled  with. 

The  viands  were  brought  in  before  the  bell-rope 
had  ceased  swaying. 

"Seat  yourself,  my  lord,"  he  cried,  for  Byron, 
after  opening  the  door  for  Mary,  had  not  resumed 
his  chair.  "Seat  yourself,  man,  you  have  not 
gone  half  through  your  dinner  yet.  If  Mrs. 
Musters  has  chosen  to  go  off  in  high  dudgeon 
about  something,  that  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  have  your  dinner  cut  short.  Sit  down,  I 
say." 

"  I  have  had  an  excellent  dinner,  I  assure  you," 
said  Byron.  "  I  wonder  that  the  report  about 
my  eating  did  not  reach  you  with  the  creditable 
one  which  you  credited.  There  are  a  score  of 
persons  who  know  all  about  my  diet  for  every 
one  who  has  read  my  verses.  I  only  dine  twice 
a  week." 

"  What,  have  your  funds  fallen  so  low  as  that?  " 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  419 

cried  Musters.  "Sit  down,  and  I'll  do  my  best 
to  raise  a  mortgage  on  whatever  you  have  to 
offer." 

'A  box  of  pins,"  said  Byron.  "No,  I'll  not 
sit  down  again.  There  is  nothing  so  dishearten- 
ing at  a  dinner  table  as  someone  who  has  just 
dined  and  is  unequal  to  repeating  the  process.  I 
shall  join  my  cousin  in  the  drawing-room  for  the 
time  being." 

"You  are  a  fool:  you'll  be  merrier  here," 
growled  Mary's  husband. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Ramsden, 
with  a  roguish  smile  at  Byron,  by  which  she 
meant  to  suggest  that  the  roguishness  was  with 
him. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Byron,  "you  will  be  the 
merrier  for  my  absence." 

He  spoke  from  the  door,  which  a  footman  held 
open  for  him.  He  waved  his  hand  with  a  joint 
bow,  which  only  the  lady  acknowledged. 

Before  he  reached  the  drawing-room  he  had 
clenched  his  fingers  and  ground  his  teeth  at  the 
thought  of  the  brutality  of  the  man  whom  he  had 
just  quitted.  It  was  as  if,  with  the  opening  of 
the  door  that  admitted  Mrs.  Ramsden,  a  light  had 
streamed  in  illuminating  the  secret  recesses  of  the 
Musters 's  menage.  He  could  now  understand  why 
Mary  should  wear  the  expression  of  a  woman 
reconciled  to  unhappiness.  He  could  now  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  Mary's  words  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Patience!  Yes,  but  for  how  long? — for 


420  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

how  much?  There  were  acts  committed  against 
a  woman  which  even  the  most  patient  should 
riot  suffer.  To  suffer  them  a  woman  would  be 
a  traitress  to  herself  —  consenting  to  her  own 
dishonour. 

The  most  elementary  ethics  of  men  of  the 
stamp  of  Musters  were  comprised  in  the  phrase 
"common  decency,"  and  it  was  accepted  as  one 
of  the  tenets  of  the  creed  of  common  decency  that 
a  man  who  wished  to  lead  a  free  life  must  do  so 
outside  the  home  of  his  wife  and  children.  To 
introduce  into  his  family  the  elements  incidental 
to  his  undomestic  life  was  regarded  on  all  hands 
as  something  that  even  laxity  could  not  tolerate. 
It  was  plain  to  Byron  that  the  answer  to  Mary's 
prayer  for  patience  fell  short  of  her  necessities  in 
such  a  case  as  had  just  been  presented  to  his 
sight.  Heaven,  who  had  certainly  heard  her  im- 
ploration  for  patience  by  granting  her  this  virtue 
in  greater  abundance  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  most 
women  to  receive,  had  not  made  provision  to 
meet  such  a  contingency  as  the  arrival  of  Molly 
Ramsden.  Byron  felt  that  if  she  had  shaken 
hands  with  that  woman  he  would  never  have  for- 
given her.  One  gets  out  of  patience  with  the 
patient  Griselda,  and  he  could  not  have  remained 
to  witness  Mary  Chaworth's  acquiescence  in  the 
humiliation  her  husband  had  offered  her. 

He  admired  the  way  in  which  she  had  behaved. 
Though  taken  by  surprise — as  he  was  now  sure 
her  husband  meant  that  she  should  be — she  had 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  421 

adroitly  refused  to  shake  hands  with  the  insult 
that  had  brazened  itself  before  her.  She  had  re- 
fused to  remain  in  the  room  with  it,  and  had 
departed  with  dignity.  But  Heaven  had  granted 
her  the  gift  of  patience  in  abundance:  she  had 
left  the  dining-room  herself  instead  of  ordering 
the  woman  out  of  it. 

He  found  her  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
candles  had  not  yet  been  lighted,  so  that  the  room 
was  in  twilight.  She  was  standing  at  the  window 
where  they  had  stood  together  an  hour  before. 
She  turned  round  quickly  at  his  entrance,  and  he 
saw  that  there  was  a  frightened  look  in  her  eye. 
That  expression  went  to  his  heart. 

"  My  poor  Mary,  what  you  must  have  suffered ! " 
he  said  when  he  had  come  behind  her,  and  she 
had  turned  her  eyes  again  to  the  cedar  which 
raised  arms  of  benediction  to  the  blackbirds  and 
thrushes  of  the  lawn. 

"Suffered — suffered!  That  is  nothing— suffer- 
ing means  nothing  to  me.  But  the  children — the 
children!"  she  said. 

"It  is  pitiful— pitiful— and  your  own  house, 
too ! — the  house  was  yours,  not  his,  and  yet— 

"He  never  went  so  far  as  this  before,"  she 
cried.  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  invited  you  to 
dinner  to-day  believing  that  if  you  were  present 
in  the  room  I  should  not  have  the  courage  to 
leave  it." 

"  He  does  not  know  you  even  yet,  Mary.  Did 
you  look  for  me  to  remain  by  your  side?" 


422  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  No,  no ;  I  knew  that  you  stayed  in  the  room 
to  prevent  him  from  following  me,  from  further 
insulting  me,  and  to  save  me  from  seeing  him 
insult  you  as  well." 

"You  know  me,  Mary,  better  than  he  knows 
you.  I  felt  sure  that  he  would  have  followed  us 
and  perhaps  turned  me  out  of  the  house,  giving 
me  no  chance  of  seeing  you.  I  went  back  to  the 
room  and  even  succeeded  in  making  myself 
pleasant  to  them.  My  poor  Mary!  .  .  .  But 
what  can  the  man  mean?  Does  he  suppose  that 
you  will  submit  to  her  staying  under  your  roof?" 

"She  brought  a  load  of  trunks  with  her — he 
ordered  them  to  be  taken  up  to  a  room." 

"Monstrous!  Could  anyone  believe  it  possible 
that  a  man  —  and  married  to  you  —  married  to 
you!  —  What  will  you  do,  Mary?  He  cannot 
think  it  possible  that  you  will  be  content  to 
remain  here?" 

She  walked  away  from  him  and  threw  herself 
down  on  a  sofa — the  very  sofa  on  which  he  had 
sat  while  she  was  singing  her  song  for  him  long 
ago.  She  stared  out  straight  before  her. 

"  It  has  been  going  on  for  years,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice.  She  seemed  to  be  talking  to  herself, 
unaware  of  his  presence.  "  I  wonder  if  it  was  my 
fault  at  first.  I  wonder  if  I  was  to  blame  in  any 
way.  When  I  made  the  discovery  at  first  should 
I  have  given  him  to  understand?  .  .  .  but  I 
hoped  to  win  him  back  to  me.  I  had  so  much 
confidence  in  myself — in  the  power  of  my  affec- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  423 

tion  for  him— I  really  believe  that  I  was  fond  of 
him  .  .  .  and  the  child  ...  I  thought  that 
when  our  little  girl  was  born  .  .  .  but  he  be- 
came worse ;  he  hated  the  child  and  then  I  hated 
him — I  hated  the  man  who  was  my  husband." 

She  laid  her  head  down  upon  the  cushion  and 
he  knew  that  she  was  weeping. 

What  could  he  say?  He  longed  to  say  some- 
thing to  comfort  her;  but  he  knew  that  this  was 
not  the  moment  to  make  the  attempt.  What 
words  that  he  could  say  would  comfort  her?  He 
stood  with  his  hands  behind  him  in  the  silence. 
The  little  rustle  of  something  of  silk  that  she 
wore  was  the  only  sound  in  the  room. 

Suddenly,  before  he  knew  it,  she  was  on  her 
feet. 

"The  children  must  go,"  she  said,  decisively. 
"  Whatever  happens  the  children  shall  not  remain 
in  this  house.  He  dare  not  interfere.  Oh,  I  need 
not  think  of  his  interfering— that  is  the  last  thing 
that  he  would  do.  He  will  be  glad  of  it." 

"  And  you — you— what  about  yourself,  my  dear 
Mary  ? "  he  said,  with  all  the  tenderness  of  feeling 
that  was  in  his  heart  for  her. 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  about  me?"  she  said. 
"My  life  is  over." 

"For  God's  sake,  do  not  say  that,"  he  cried. 
"  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  you  say  that.     I  shall  kill 
him— I  shall  kill  him.     He  has  killed  you,  and 
shall  kill  him — I  swear  it!" 

"Hush— oh,  hush!    Will  you  make  my  task 


424  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

more  difficult  for  me,  Byron?  You  would  not  do 
that,  I  know." 

"Am  I  to  stand  by — I,  a  man,  inactive — a  mere 
looker-on  while  that  man  who  has  made  your  life 
a  wreck — who  has  robbed  me " 

"  Oh,  Byron,  I  implore  of  you " 

"  Forgive  me,  Mary ;  I  am  selfish ;  I  think  only 
of  myself — of  the  happiness  which  might  have 
been  mine.  I  tell  you  that " 

The  dining-room  door  had  been  opened  for  a 
few  moments.  The  sound  of  loud  laughter 
reached  them  in  the  drawing-room.  He  struck 
the  top  of  a  chair  with  his  fist. 

"  I  cannot  stand  it,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  stand 
here  feeling  that  I  am  powerless." 

He  took  a  resolute  step  toward  the  door. 

She  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  For  my  sake,  Byron — can  you  not  bear  it  for 
my  sake?  When  I  can  bear  it,  why  should  not 
you?"  she  said. 

He  caught  the  hand  that  was  on  his  sleeve  in 
both  his  own  and  stood  looking  into  her  face,  that 
looked  up  to  his.  So  he  stood  for  more  than  a 
minute. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "I  cannot 
stay  here  any  longer.  I  cannot  command  my- 
self. It  will  be  best  for  you  if  I  leave  you  now. 
Good-bye." 

"You  are  right,"  she  said.  "You  must  go.  I 
know  that  you  are  leaving  me  because  you  love 
me,  Byron,  and  because  you  will  help  me  as  you 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  425 

would  any  wretched  woman  who  is  foolish  enough 
to  believe  that  there  are  other  considerations  in 
life  besides  her  own  happiness.  Kiss  me,  my 
Byron,  and  go  away— to  help  me— to  help  me!" 

She  put  her  face — the  tears  were  glistening  on 
her  cheeks  in  the  dim  summer  twilight  of  the  room 
—up  to  his,  and  it  was  she  who  kissed  him — she 
kissed  him  twice. 

"Only  tell  me  how  to  help  you,"  he  said,  in  a 
passionless  voice.  "  Only  tell  me.  You  must  not 
do  anything  without  telling  me.  Promise  me 
that,  Mary." 

"I  promise  you.  You  are,  I  think,  my  only 
friend,  and  now  you  are  going  from  me,"  she  said, 
and  for  a  moment  he  felt  that  she  was  asking  him 
to  stay. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said.  "  Every  day  at  noon 
I  shall  ride  to  the  knoll  where  we  parted.  I  shall 
wait  there  for  you  to  come  to  me  to  tell  me  all 
that  you  have  to  tell.  Come  to  me  when  you 
have  made  up  your  mind — come  to  me  and  tell 
me  how  I  can  help  you.  That  shall  be  my  one 
aim  in  life — to  help  you." 

"I  will  come — I  promise  you  that,  my  one 
friend — my  one  dear  friend." 

Then  it  was  that  he  kissed  her,  with  a  hand  on 
each  side  of  her  head. 

He  hurried  from  the  room  and  sent  a  servant  to 
go  to  the  stables  and  order  his  carriage. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE  could  not  go  to  bed.  He  knew  that  he 
would  get  no  sleep,  for  he  felt  more  excited 
than  he  had  for  years.  The  night  was  an  ex- 
quisite one,  of  soft  summer  starlight  and  sweet 
scents  of  dewy  grass.  May  was  a  maiden  placing 
her  cool  hand  trustfully  in  the  warm  hand  of  her 
lover,  June,  and  partaking  of  some  of  the  glow 
that  came  from  him.  Streaks  of  the  faint  blue  of 
the  western  sky  appeared  above  the  black  line 
of  the  yew  hedge,  but  the  blue  darkened  over- 
head and  in  the  east  the  stars  were  alight.  The 
only  sounds  of  the  night  came  from  the  breathing 
of  the  trees — the  soft  breathing  of  an  air  through 
the  foliage  of  May,  very  different  from  the  crisp, 
restless  rustle  of  October. 

He  strolled  down  to  the  brink  of  the  pond. 
The  little  splash  of  a  water-rat  stirred  up  the  sur- 
face in  ripples  large  enough  to  sway  the  floating 
leaves  of  the  water-plants,  as  he  seated  himself 
on  a  carved  stone  bench  above  the  sloping  bank. 
He  had  much  to  think  about,  but  his  thoughts 
came  upon  him  in  a  mob,  not  a  procession. 

Mixed  with  the  recollection  of  how  she  had 
kissed  him  came  a  confused  rush  of  emotions,  and 
he  found  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears  of  pity 

426 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  427 

for  the  unhappiness  of  the  woman  who  had  offered 
her  lips  to  his  own.     How  could  he  ever  have 
fancied  even  for  a  moment  that  he  loved  any 
other  woman  than  this  during  the  years  that  had 
passed  since  they  parted?    That  was  the  wonder 
to  him.     How  could  he  ever  have  fancied  that  he 
could  be  happy  with  any  other  woman?    He  felt 
that  all  other  women  were  but  shadowy;  she  was 
the  only  one  who  was  real.     He  looked  into  the 
water  that  lay  before  him  and  saw  upon  its  flat 
surface  the  reflection  of  many  stars,  and  then  he 
turned  his  eyes  to  the  heaven  and  saw  the  eternal 
ones  shining  above  him.     That  was  it:   he  had 
passed  his  life  looking  down  instead  of  up. 

And  she  loved  him— of  that  he  had  now  no 
doubt.     .     .     .     And  she  had  told  him  that  her 
life  was  over    .    .    .    and  she  had  only  missed  by 
a  month  or  two  the  chance  of  being  made  happy 
by  him.     Oh!  if  they  had  only  met  before  the 
delusion  of  her  love  for  that  man  who  had  spoilt 
her  life  had    come    upon    her,  what    happiness 
would  have  been  his,  and  hers — and  hers;  for 
he  would  have  compassed  her  with  his  love.     He 
would  have  had  no  thought  but  of  love  for  her. 
What  a  life  would  theirs  have  been.     What  poetry 
he  would  have  written!     His  poetry  would  have 
been  thrilled  through  and  through  with  the  breath 
of  this  great  life  until  the  lines  would  themselves 
have  breathed  and  lived.     The  man  who  had  been 
with  him  in  this  place  a  few  days  before  had  said 
that  suffering  only  gave  immortality  to  a  poem. 


428  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

That  was  a  He.  With  her  by  his  side  he  would 
have  written  poetry  that  would  have  reached  the 
heart  of  men,  the  soul  of  women;  not  such  as 
had  come  from  him — not  poetry  that  filled  the 
heart  of  men  with  doubts,  the  soul  of  women 
with  despair.  He  could  only  write  what  was  in 
his  own  heart,  what  was  in  his  own  soul:  doubt 
in  the  one,  despair  in  the  other. 

But  with  her     .     .     . 

The  tumult  of  his  passion  of  thought  flung  him 
about  as  a  wrecked  ship  is  flung  about  in  the 
eddies  of  a  whirlpool,  with  a  single  sail  still  tatter- 
ing about  the  ragged,  splintered  end  of  the  broken 
mast.  He  was  surged  about  on  the  thought  of 
what  might  have  been,  and  then  whirled  down 
into  a  gulf  of  remorse  at  his  lightness  of  love 
during  the  years  that  had  passed.  How  could  he 
ever  have  been  attracted  by  such  faces  as  had 
flitted  past  him?  It  was  no  wonder  he  felt  that 
disaster  had  overtaken  and  wrecked  him :  he  had 
steered  his  course,  not  by  the  one  guiding  star  of 
his  heaven,  but  by  the  fitful  reflection  of  the  faint 
stars  of  the  water. 

An  hour  had  passed  before  the  thought  came  to 
him, — the  torn  sail  of  a  thought,  that  sent  him  to 
his  feet  in  a  moment  as  though  a  sudden  noise  had 
burst  upon  him  close  at  hand, — 7s  it  all  too  late  ? 

Why  should  it  be  too  late  for  them  to  hope  for 
happiness?  Why  should  they  think  of  their  lives 
as  wrecked  beyond  hope  of  being  saved?  They 
were  both  young  and  they  loved  each  other;  in 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  429 

the  name  of  heaven  what  else  was  there  in  life 
that  they  needed  for  happiness?  Youth  and  pas- 
sion— why,  there  is  nothing  else  in  the  world 
worth  talking  about.  Nature  hoots  in  derision  at 
everything  else.  All  her  schemes  and  plans  begin 
and  end  in  these  two  precious  possessions.  All 
her  care  is  for  the  maintenance  of  the  two;  and 
these  two  belonged  to  Mary  and  to  himself. 
Great  heavens !  why  should  they  think  of  unhap- 
piness  so  long  as  they  possessed  all  that  nature 
holds  best  in  the  world?  He  resumed  his  simile 
of  the  wreck — it  had  never  left  his  mind:  a  wreck? 
It  was  like  assuming  that  a  ship  was  wrecked 
because  a  bucketful  of  water  had  splashed  over 
her  bows. 

In  the  force  of  this  thought  Despair  gave  place, 
not  merely  to  Hope,  but  to  Certainty.  His  soul 
was  sensible  of  a  tropical  sunrise:  darkness  one 
moment,  the  next  a  flood  of  light  striking  to  the 
highest  heaven  above  him,  filling  all  the  world 
with  the  glow  of  a  new-born  day.  He  saw  it  all 
clearly  now:  she  had  only  to  come  to  him  and 
her  shattered  life  would  be  renewed. 

The  force  of  that  thought  swept  all  reason  be- 
fore it.  It  never  so  much  as  occurred  to  him 
that  the  woman  might  not  look  at  the  matter 
from  his  point  of  view— the  point  of  view  of  the 
man  who  lived  before  civilisation  came  into  exist- 
ence to  correct  the  ambitions  of  nature.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  she  might  consider  as  a 
barrier  to  their  happiness  the  circumstance  of  her 


430  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

being  the  wife  of  the  man  who  had  brought  all 
unhappiness  into  her  life.  But  after  an  hour  of 
exultation — the  exultation  of  the  man  who  is  con- 
scious of  the  possession  of  the  two  grand  gifts  of 
nature — he  began  to  feel  a  cold  ringer  of  doubt 
laid  upon  his  heart.  She  might  not  be  willing — 
such  is  the  second  nature  which  woman  has  ac- 
quired in  place  of  the  old  nature  of  the  original 
woman — to  rush  into  the  embrace  of  happiness, 
simply  because  she  was  a  wife. 

Would  she  ?  Then  under  the  influence  of  that 
original  nature  with  which  men  have  not  parted 
in  exchange  for  civilisation  and  its  restrictions, 
he  felt  that  he  must  force  her  to  accept  the  happi- 
ness from  which  she  shrank.  But  she  had  not 
yet  shrunk  from  it.  He  had  not  yet  made  the 
proposition  to  her.  He  would  make  it  without 
delay. 

The  stars  in  the  western  sky  had  begun  to  look 
timid  in  the  dawn  before  he  went  indoors  and  on 
to  his  bedroom,  and  the  sun  was  shining  above 
the  tree  tops  before  he  fell  asleep.  By  that  time 
he  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  the  confidence  which 
he  had  felt  in  his  ability  to  force  her  to  walk  in 
the  path  that  he  would  point  out  to  her — the 
path  leading  to  a  tower,  a  stronghold  of  happi- 
ness ;  he  had  begun  to  think  of  the  best  means  of 
persuading  her.  She  loved  him,  of  that  he  was 
assured ;  then  how  would  it  be  possible  for  her  to 
avoid  seeing  clearly  that  it  was  right  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven — that  was  how  to  put  the  matter  to  a 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  431 

woman — for  her  to  go  to  him  and  away  from  the 
man  whom  she  hated? 

Oh,  he  had  no  trouble  about  the  arguments. 
They  came  to  him  quite  pat,  and  he  thought  that 
he  was  the  first  man  to  whom  they  had  occurred ; 
but  yet  he  was  unable  to  convince  himself  that 
they  would  have  force  with  Mary  Chaworth. 

When  he  rose,  without  taking  any  breakfast, 
he  ordered  his  horse  to  be  saddled  and  he  rode  to 
the  knoll  where  he  had  agreed  with  her  they 
should  meet  when  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
what  she  should  do  to  save  herself  and  her 
children.  When  he  was  riding  along  the  gentle 
slopes  he  was  asking  himself  if  she  would  have 
the  courage  to  come  to  him,  saying  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  go  away  with  him.  The 
bare  thought  of  so  remote  a  possibility  brought 
before  his  eyes  a  vision  of  that  island  of  the 
archipelago  that  he  knew  so  well.  He  saw  it  once 
again,  with  its  green-clad  crags,  its  plumed  palms, 
its  latticed  vines,  its  cerulean  sea,  and  its  turquoise 
sky.  That  was  where  he  would  take  her;  there 
life  for  both  of  them  would  begin,  and  the  spectral 
past  that  hovered  over  them  with  cold  fingers 
ready  to  chill  them  would  be  blown  away  with 
the  spectral  mists  that  the  first  breath  of  morning 
dispersed  from  the  ridges  of  the  slopes  of  that 
island  which  glowed  in  his  sea  of  dreams. 

She  was  not  at  the  knoll.  He  rode  about  the 
hill  for  an  hour,  but  still  she  did  not  appear. 
He  remained  for  nearly  another  hour  in  the 


432  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

shadow  of  the  trees,  looking  out  over  the  land- 
scape which  he  remembered  so  well,  and  his  un- 
easiness became  impatience.  It  was  not  until  he 
had  returned  to  Newstead  that  his  imagination 
began  to  suggest  to  him  the  many  reasons  there 
might  be  for  her  failing  to  reach  the  knoll  at  the 
hour  that  he  had  named  to  her.  As  a  matter  of 
course,  he  was  led  to  blame  her  husband  for  her 
absence.  A  picture  came  before  him  of  the  brutal 
husband  giving  orders  for  her  horse  to  be  taken 
back  to  the  stables  when  she  was  at  the  point  of 
mounting — of  his  forcing  her  into  the  house  and 
locking  her  in  her  room.  He  was  equal  to  any 
gross  piece  of  brutal  oppression,  Byron  was  con- 
vinced. Mary  would  certainly  adhere  to  her 
resolution  to  give  no  countenance  to  the  presence 
at  the  Hall  of  that  creature  with  the  plumed  hat 
and  the  high  complexion;  and  that  would  make 
the  man  furious. 

This  might  well  be,  he  reflected;  and  then  he 
brought  himself  into  the  picture  of  his  imagina- 
tion. Would  it  not  be  possible  for  him  to  ride 
by  night  to  Annesley  Hall  and  rescue  the  wife 
from  her  imprisonment — carry  her  off  with  him 
out  of  reach  of  the  husband's  fury?  He  sat  for 
hours  thinking  out  plans  for  her  relief  suggested 
by  his  restless  imagination.  He  knew  himself  to 
be  not  merely  a  dreamer  of  poet's  dreams,  but  a 
man  of  resource  and  ready  action — a  man  who 
could  hold  his  own  with  sword  or  pistol  against 
any  other ;  and  he  had  come  to  think  of  Mary  as 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  433 

his  own,  whom  he  longed  to  hold  against  the 
violence  of  her  husband. 

These  visions  of  romance  were  very  vivid  while 
they  lasted,  but  they  gave  place  to  others  of  a 
more  sober  and  rational  hue.  He  felt  that  it  was 
quite  possible  that  Mary  herself  had  regretted 
making  the  promise  to  meet  him  on  the  hill — 
that  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  could 
not  be  of  help  to  her,  but  rather  the  reverse; 
therefore  she  would  think  herself  entitled  to  be- 
lieve that,  as  the  reason  for  the  act  had  disap- 
peared, she  was  under  no  obligation  to  keep  her 
promise. 

This  idea  tortured  him  for  hours,  and  it  was 
not  until  his  clearness  of  vision  (such  as  it  was) 
was  restored  by  the  approach  of  the  equable  dark- 
ness of  the  night  that  he  became  tranquil,  per- 
ceiving as  he  did  that,  as  only  a  single  night  had 
passed  since  she  had  agreed  to  meet  him,  it  was 
unreasonable  for  him  to  assume  that  she  should 
have  come  to  him  so  soon.  He  had  told  her  that 
he  would  ride  to  the  knoll  every  day  in  the  hope 
that  she  would  come  to  him;  only  one  day  had 
gone  by ;  he  would  go  the  next  day  and  the  next ; 
he  would  be  patient  as  she  had  been  patient,  and 
even  though  she  did  not  come  to  him  he  would 
not  think  of  her  as  failing  him. 

On  the  third  day— a  day  of  clouds  and  still 
ness  in  the  air— he  found  her  waiting  for  him  on 
horseback.     Of  course,  her  first  words  were  of 

the  children. 

28 


434  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"I  have  sent  them  away,"  she  said.  "They 
have  gone  to  Southwell,  to  the  house  of  my  dear- 
est friend,  Mrs.  Sunbury.  There  they  will  be  safe. 
He  knows  nothing  of  them — he  will  not  miss  them. 
I  do  not  think  that  he  has  seen  them  for  weeks." 

"  And  you, "  he  said ;  "  you  cannot  mean  to  stay 
in  the  house  with  him — with  her  ?" 

"I  have  not  left  my  own  rooms,"  she  said. 
"He  came  to  me  yesterday  with  angry  upbraid- 
ings,  wild  talk  about  insulting  his  guest,  de- 
manding an  explanation  from  me,  declaring  that 
the  suggestion  that  that  woman  was  other  than 
a  most  charming  and  virtuous  lady  was  a  gross 
slander  upon  her,  and  bidding  me  appear  at 
dinner  in  the  evening." 

"And  you  never  answered  him,"  said  Byron. 

"  I  did  not  need  to  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  I  did 
not  even  tell  him  that  I  would  not  go  down  to 
dinner.  He  knew  that  I  would  not  do  so,  and  he 
had  not  the  courage  to  pay  me  another  visit." 

"You  must  not  stay  any  longer  in  the  house 
with  him.  It  is  not  possible  that  you  intend  to 
do  so,"  said  he. 

"I  have  been  thinking  over  that,"  she  said, 
"and  I  have  resigned  myself  to  stay.  Only  by 
my  staying  is  it  possible  to  avoid  an  open  scandal. " 

"  What,  do  you  not  think  that  your  remaining 
in  that  house  is  a  greater  scandal  than  your  going 
away  would  be?"  he  cried.  "Heavens!  is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  are  ready  to  take  your  place  in  that 
house  as — as — Mary,  I  tell  you  that  it  is  impos- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  435 

sible.  Oh,  my  dear  one,  the  ordeal  would  kill 
you.  I  already  see  a  great  change  in  you  within 
the  few  days  that  have  passed  since  this  thing 
happened.  Think  of  it,  Mary,— you,  living  alone 
and  apart  in  that  house,  separated  from  your 
children — for  how  long — how  long?" 

"It  will  not  be  for  very  long:  he  is  fickle," 
she  replied. 

"  And  when  he  holds  up  his  finger  you  are  ready 
to  return  to  him?" 

"  No,  no — I  saw  long  ago  that  that  was  impos- 
sible; but — oh,  what  is  left  for  me  to  do? — tell 
me  that." 

"I  will  tell  you,  Mary:  let  me  be  the  one  to 
save  you  from  the  fate  that  awaits  you  in  that 
house.  You  know  that  I  love  you — you  know 
that  you  love  me — come  to  me,  my  dear  love — 
the  one  love  of  my  life — come  to  me  and  for- 
get that  you  were  ever  the  slave  of  that  man's 
caprice." 

"  Oh,  Byron — dear  Byron,  if  you  love  me — 
"Come  to  me,  dearest, — I  have  been  thinking 
out  the  whole  matter,  and  I  know  in  what  direc- 
tion our  happiness  lies.  We  have  both  suffered, 
you  and  I — but  what  have  my  sufferings  been 
compared  to  yours  ? — but  our  life  together  will  be 
such  as  will  make  us  forget  everything  of  the 
cruel  past.  We  shall  fly  from  this  country — we 
shall  begin  life  anew — ah,  dearest,  it  will  be  like 
going  into  another  world — from  earth  to  heaven 
— nay,  from  hell  to  heaven." 


436  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

He  had  leaned  forward  from  his  saddle  and 
caught  one  of  her  hands.  His  face  was  close  to 
hers,  his  eyes  were  looking  into  hers,  but  she  was 
looking  vaguely,  dreamily  across  the  slope  of  the 
landscape.  Her  hand  was  limp  in  his.  She  did 
not  seem  to  hear  his  words. 

"  Think  of  what  your  life  will  be  if  you  remain 
here,"  he  cried.  "  Can  anyone  doubt  what  it  will 
be  so  long  as  that  man  lives?  Humiliation — 
worse — a  degradation  that  neither  God  nor  nature 
can  ask  a  woman  to  submit  to.  Infamous !  And 
your  children — do  you  fancy  that  this  will  be  the 
last  of  his  freaks  ?  I  tell  you,  Mary,  that  you  will 
be  culpable  in  the  judgment  of  heaven  and  earth 
if  you  remain  in  that  house  with  that  man  who 
has  treated  you  with  a  baseness  that  relieves 
you  from  every  obligation  to  him.  I  want  to 
save  you  from  this,  my  dearest — oh,  I  shall  save 
you." 

Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  him.  There 
was  no  suggestion  of  a  reproach  in  her  expression. 

"My  dear  love,"  she  said,  "long  ago  when  you 
were  a  boy  you  made  me  love  you;  every  day 
you  were  with  me  that  love  increased — all  the 
years  that  we  have  been  separated  my  love  for 
you  has  been  growing  until  now — now  it  is  so 
great  that  it  gives  me  power  to  resist  the  temp- 
tation that  is  offered  to  me  to  do  you  a  great 
wrong." 

"A  great  wrong?"  he  cried.  "Mary,  I  swear 
to  you  that  only  by  your  coming  to  me,  joining 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  43  7 

your  life  with  mine,  can  I  be  saved  from  falling 
back  into  the  depths  in  which  I  once  found 
myself." 

"  No ;  you  will  never  fell  back  into  those  depths, 
dear,  because  you  have  heard  me  say  that  I  love 
you  and  that  I  shall  continue  loving  you,"  she 
said,  with  tenderness  in  every  tone— tenderness 
and  tears.  "  I  know  that  if  I  loved  you  any  less 
than  I  do  now  I  would  not  hesitate  to  gain  my 
happiness  at  the  cost  of  yours." 

"  They  are  not  separate — our  happiness  is  but 
one." 

"I  have  thought  it  out,  Byron.  You  are  not 
an  ordinary  man.  You  are  the  head  of  a  great 
house.  You  are  more  than  that — you  are  a  great 
poet.  A  splendid  career  is  within  your  grasp, 
and  it  is  because  I  love  you  I  refuse — I  refuse  to 
be  a  weight  round  your  neck — I  refuse — oh,  God, 
I  cannot — I  cannot— 

She  bowed  her  head  down  until  her  cheek  was 
against  her  horse's  neck,  moaning.  He  laid  his 
hand  upon  her  bridle ;  in  a  second  she  had  straight- 
ened herself  upon  her  saddle.  She  snatched  the 
bridle  from  his  hand,  and  with  a  sudden  jerk 
pulled  round  her  horse's  head  and  sent  him  for- 
ward with  a  leap.  Before  Byron  knew  what  she 
was  doing,  she  was  galloping  madly  across  the 
fields.  She  was  a  mile  away  before  he  under- 
stood that  she  had  succeeded  in  resisting  the 
temptation  by  the  simplest  means  possible — by 
flying  from  it.  When  she  had  broken  down  in 


438  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

her  resistance  to  him  in  words,  he  felt  sure  that 
she  was  coming  with  him,  and  yet  through  the 
moment's  strength  that  had  come  to  her,  she  was 
now  two  miles  away — a  faint  moving  speck  in  the 
distance  of  meadow-land  and  woodland. 

"Oh,  God!  what  a  woman  I  have  lost!"  he 
moaned. 

He  remained  motionless  where  she  had  left  him 
for  another  hour.  He  had  a  vague  half -belief ,  a 
faint  illogical  impression,  that  she  would  return 
to  him  if  only  he  waited  long  enough.  It  was  the 
result  of  a  shadowy  survival  of  early  man's  know- 
ledge of  his  own  importance  in  relation  to  the 
woman.  She  had  acknowledged  the  temptation 
which  he  had  put  before  her ;  had  she  waited  for 
him  to  say  another  sentence,  she  would  have 
yielded;  he  was  certain  of  that,  and  she  had 
shown  him  that  she  also  was  certain  of  it.  But 
she  had  a  moment's  strength  given  to  her  and  she 
had  used  it  to  save  herself  in  the  conclusive  way 
of  the  original  woman :  she  had  not  resumed  the 
thread  of  her  argument  with  the  man;  she  had 
yielded  to  the  true  feminine  instinct  to  save  her- 
self by  flight,  and  she  had  saved  herself. 

Not  quite  understanding  her  he  remained  on 
his  horse  waiting  in  the  force  of  his  instinct  for 
something  that  his  reason  assured  him  was  an 
impossibility.  He  should  have  known  that  she 
was  kneeling  at  the  window  of  her  room  which 
commanded  a  distant  view  of  the  diadem  of  trees 
at  the  knoll,  thanking  Heaven  for  giving  her  that 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  439 

moment's  strength  which  she  had  used  to  flee 
from  the  temptation  that  had  come  to  her 

Was  there  in  his  secret  heart  a  sensation  of 
satisfaction  that  she  had  resisted  that  tempta- 
Did  he  feel  a  certain  gladness  at  the  proof 
given  to  him  that  she  was  not  as  other  women? 
While  he  rode  slowly  in  the  tracks  made  by  her 
horse  at  his  gallop,  he  was  ready  to  affirm  that  she 
had  been  mad  to  fling  away  the  prospect— the 
certainty— of  happiness  which  he  had  opened  up 
before  her.     She  said  that  she  had  done  it  for  his 
sake.     That  was  her  sweet  unselfishness :  she  was 
ready  to   sacrifice   her  own  happiness  lest  she 
should  interfere  with  his.     That  was  the  aspira- 
tion of  a  saint ;   but  it  was  founded  on  no  more 
substantial  a  basis  than  the  ecstasy  of  a  saint. 
How  would  she  ever  be  the  burden  to  him  that 
she  had  spoken  of?     His  house?     What  were  his 
obligations  in  regard  to  the  house  of  Byron?    He 
came  in  view  of  the  long  range  of  front  of  New- 
stead  when  he  asked  himself  the  question. 
There  was  the  answer  before  him. 
"The  obligation  to  maintain  a  tottering  ruin," 
he  said.     "She  has  been  foolish  enough  to  place 
such  a  consideration  before  every  other — her  hap- 
piness— my  happiness!" 

But  she  had  also  introduced  the  question  of  his 
future  as  a  poet. 

He  became  impatient  at  the  thought.  How 
was  it  possible,  he  asked  himself,  that  the  circum- 
stance of  his  having  forever  by  his  side  the  one 


44°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

dear  soul  whose  presence  had  been  to  him  the 
golden  key  that  unlocked  the  gates  leading  to 
that  spacious  domain  of  poesy  upon  which  he  had 
entered  should  be  otherwise  than  a  blessing  to 
him?  Her  sympathy — her  guidance — the  sense 
of  her  purity  and  graciousness  surrounding  him 
forever  —  how  could  she  think  that  such  influ- 
ences could  be  otherwise  than  beneficial  to  his 
work? 

Then  the  words  of  Vince  came  back  to  him: 
"Only  by  suffering — only  by  suffering." 
Was  it  possible  that  she  believed  that  only  by 
suffering  could  a  poet  reach  the  heights  on  which 
Dante  and  Milton  had  walked,  or  penetrate  to  the 
depths  of  darkness  which  their  poetry  illuminated? 
He  threw  himself  off  his  horse  and  entered  the 
porch  of  Newstead. 
His  butler  met  him. 

"Lady  Caroline  Lamb  is  awaiting  your  lord- 
ship's return  in  the  drawing-room,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BYRON  did  not  betray  any  surprise  at  the 
announcement,  though  it  had  come  upon 
him  with  a  shock  of  something  more  than  sur- 
prise. The  fact  was  that  he  was  too  much 
amazed  to  be  able  to  realise  the  import  of  the 
words  spoken  by  the  butler.  The  incidents  of  the 
previous  two  hours  absorbed  his  thoughts  too 
fully  to  allow  of  his  being  able  to  consider  such  a 
matter  as  had  been  suggested  by  the  servant. 
He  had  passed  through  a  crisis  in  his  life  and  he 
felt  that  this  was  an  anti-crisis ;  he  had  a  vague 
impression  of  its  being  flat  and  of  little  interest 
to  him. 

She  was  out  of  the  drawing-room  and  beside 
him  in  the  hall  before  he  had  succeeded  in  col- 
lecting himself  sufficiently  to  determine  what  he 
should  do. 

She  had  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  crying 
first,  cooing  afterwards : 

"Byron! — my  dear  Byron! — my  dear  lord! — 
my  only  lord  and  master  of  my  life  and  destiny!" 

"Oh,  will  you  drink  coffee? — I  believe  that  I 
can  command  some  excellent  coffee,"  said  he — a 
poor  response  to  such  enthusiasm. 

Her  hands  dropped  from  his  shoulders. 

441 


442  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"Coffee — coffee!"  she  said  derisively. 

"  I  sometimes  take  a  cup  in  the  afternoon,  and 
I  thought  that  perhaps  you  would  join  me,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  so  good  of  you  to  visit  me  in  my 
loneliness.  Shall  we  go  into  the  drawing-room?" 

He  held  the  door  open  for  her,  talking  glibly 
about  trivialities,  as  men  do  whose  nerves  are 
strung  to  the  highest  tension,  and  they  entered 
the  room  together.  He  glanced  at  her  reflection 
in  the  high  mirror  of  the  console  the  moment 
that  she  passed  the  door;  he  wondered  how  he 
had  ever  been  attracted  by  such  a  reflection, 
and  it  was  in  the  force  of  this  impression  that  he 
said: 

"  How  charming  you  look  to-day — more  charm- 
ing, if  that  were  possible,  than  ever!  But  you 
are  never  other  than  exquisite,  Caroline.  To 
what  is  our  simple  county  indebted  for  the 
honour  of  this  visit?  Will  you  have  time  to  sit 
down?" 

"  Oh,  Byron,  my  Byron ! "  she  cried,  and  then  she 
sat  down  and  wept,  with  her  usual  dainty  lace 
handkerchief  up  to  her  eyes.  She  was  in  weeping 
costume — he  recognised  that  fact  at  once ;  he  had 
become  schooled  to  her  methods  of  expressing 
herself.  She  was  very  careful  that  her  toilettes 
should  be  congenial  with  her  emotions ; — so  care- 
ful that  when  she  was  conscious  of  a  wrong  note 
in  her  toilette  she  immediately  corrected  it  by  a 
substitution  of  emotion.  She  always  wept  when 
she  was  dressed  in  white  with  a  blue  sash.  Byron 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  443 

had  once  said  that  the  sash  was  the  bit  of  blue 
sky  beyond  the  rain  clouds,  and  suggested  an 
intermediate  rainbow  riband. 

He  now  watched  her  weep  on  the  unsympa- 
thetic arm  of  the  sofa. 

He  watched  her  for  some  moments  and  then 
he  rose  from  his  chair  without  a  word  and,  seat- 
ing himself  at  a  small  escritoire,  began  to  write 
a  letter,  but  not  until  he  had  conscientiously  ex- 
amined the  quill.  (His  nerves  were  very  highly 
strung  indeed.) 

She  started  to  her  feet  and  was  beside  him  in 
an  instant.  She  snatched  from  the  desk  the 
paper  on  which  he  had  just  written  the  date  and, 
tearing  the  sheets  into  a  hundred  pieces,  snowed 
them  through  the  room,  with  the  gesture  of  an 
angry  woman  flinging  a  missile. 

"How  dare  you  treat  me  in  this  way?"  she 
cried.  "  Do  you  know  me  so  little  as  to  fancy 
that  I  will  submit  to  such  infamous — such  in- 
human contempt?" 

"  Do  you  know  me  so  little  as  to  fancy  that  I 
will  submit  to  your  silly  intrusion  at  such  a  time 
as  this?"  he  said  quietly.  "I  believed  that  you 
had  something  that  you  accounted  of  some  im- 
portance to  say  to  me,  and  I  was  prepared  to 
listen  to  you  with  patience.  But,  instead  of  say- 
ing what  you  had  to  say,  you  began  to  weep 
without  any  object,  and  I  thought  that  you  would 
be  the  more  easily  composed  if  I  occupied  myself 
in  another  part  of  the  room.  Pardon  me  for  my 


444  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

rudeness.  Now,  may  I  beg  of  you  to  let  me 
know  your  reason  for  this  visit  of  surprise? " 

It  was  now  her  turn  to  be  surprised.  When 
she  had  stormed  at  him  in  the  old  days  in  the 
fashion  of  which  she  had  just  given  him  a  florid 
example,  he  had  always  responded  with  a  jest  or 
a  laugh ;  upon  one  occasion  only  had  he  suggested 
to  her  other  possibilities,  and  then  she  had  not 
been  raging  at  him,  she  had  only  been  looking  at 
Miss  Milbanke. 

She  was  surprised  at  his  harshness;  he  was 
undoubtedly  rude:  but  he  had  just  come  from 
seeing  the  woman  whom  he  loved  fly  from  him; 
though  it  is  doubtful  if  the  lady  before  him,  had 
he  made  this  explanation  to  her,  would  have 
admitted  the  plea  of  extenuation. 

She  gazed,  pouting  very  prettily  (he  had  once 
thought)  and  looking  velvety  and  innocent,  while 
she  said : 

"Oh,  Byron,  how  you  have  changed!  Oh,  who 
could  have  believed  it  possible?  What  can  have 
changed  you,  dearest  Byron?" 

"My  dear  Caroline,"  he  said  good-naturedly, 
"I  understood  that  we  were  playing  with  coun- 
ters, not  with  current  coin.  I  had  no  idea  that 
you  would  bring  your  tokens  to  be  cashed.  Surely 
you  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  tell  me  that  you  were 
acting  au  grand  sgrieux." 

"Oh,  heavens;  I  laid  my  heart  at  this  man's 
feet  and  he,  when  he  has  trampled  it  into  the 
mire, — he  asks  me  if  I  did  it  au  grand  serieux," 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  445 

cried  the  lady,  beginning  to  pace  the  room  with 
her  hands  clasped  at  first  and  then  flung  passion- 
ately toward  the  ceiling,  after  the  style  of  Mrs 
Siddons  in  The  Grecian  Mother.     Lady  Caroline 
had  studied  her  best  effects. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Byron;    "but  you  forget 
that  I  was  by  your  side  when  we  saw  her  in  that 
part.     Any  comparison  would  be  unjust." 
She  stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  passion. 
"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded. 
"  Mrs.  Siddons ;  you  imitate  her  with  astound- 
ing ability;    but   The  Grecian  Mother  is  a  poor 
play.     You  should  try  the  dagger  scene  in  Mac- 
beth in  which  she  excels;  it  is  grander." 

In  a  second  she  made  a  rush  to  the  wall;  she 
snatched  from  the  panel  the  Turkish  dagger 
which  Scott  had  presented  to  Byron  through 
Murray  a  few  weeks  previously;  she  clutched  it 
by  the  haft,  and  in  a  flash  she  had  flung  the 
sheath  with  its  coral  and  turquoise  gems  across 
the  room,  and  held  up  the  glittering  blade  in  the 
act  to  stab  herself. 

"  Thus — thus  do  I  take  your  advice — the  dagger 
scene — I  will — thus— 

He  flung  himself  upon  her  and  caught  her  by 
the  wrist. 

"You  are  mad — mad — drop  the  dagger — drop 
it,  I  say,"  cried  Byron,  struggling  with  her.  She 
was  lithe  as  a  leopard.  He  felt  her  wrist  slip 
round  under  his  fingers.  For  a  few  seconds  they 
went  backwards  and  forwards — he  forced  her  back 


446  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

till  the  dagger  was  high  above  her  head ;  had  he 
let  go  her  wrist  the  point  would  have  fallen  upon 
his  face;  she  went  back  so  far  that  to  save  her- 
self from  being  overthrown  she  fell  upon  her 
knees. 

He  had  the  dagger  in  his  hand.  They  were 
both  panting  with  the  struggle — gazing  with 
fierce  eyes  at  each  other. 

"You  are  a  mad  woman!"  he  gasped. 

She  was  still  on  her  knees.  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands — he  saw  the  marks  of  his 
fingers  on  her  wrist. 

"For  God's  sake,  Byron,  forgive  me,"  she  said, 
between  her  sobs.  "I  am  mad,  but  you  have 
driven  me  mad — no,  no;  I  do  not  blame  you — 
only — pity — have  pity — Byron — my  love — my 
love!" 

He  laid  the  dagger  on  a  table  and  went  to  her. 
He  was  greatly  affected. 

"  Dear  Caroline,  I  have  been  to  blame,"  he  said. 
"  It  was  brutal  of  me  to  utter  an  unworthy  taunt. 
You  have  always  treated  me  far  better  than  I 
deserve.  Give  me  your  hand.  Let  me  help  you 
to  a  chair.  I  shall  never  forgive  myself— 
cowardly! " 

She  suffered  him  to  raise  her,  and  she  dropped 
from  his  arms — reluctantly — into  a  chair.  She 
averted  her  head,  still  sobbing  fitfully.  A  long 
strand  of  her  beautiful  hair  had  in  the  course  of 
her  struggle  become  loosened,  and  it  fell  in  soft 
coils  on  to  her  shoulder  and  made  a  subtle  em- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  447 

broidery  of  gold  thread  down  the  bosom  of  her 
frock  and  even  over  the  blue  silk  of  her  sash. 

He  stood  watching  her  for  some  time,  not  with- 
out remorse.  But  he  could  say  nothing  beyond 
the  words  that  he  had  spoken  to  her. 

She  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  I  know  you  have  come  to  hate  me,"  she  said, 
sobbing  gently  between  every  word. 

"No,  no;  you  are  wrong — quite  wrong,  I  as- 
sure you,"  he  said. 

"You  think  me  silly — you  cannot  understand 
how  love  is  a  woman's  whole  existence,"  she  said; 
and  he  never  forgot  her  words. 

"I  think  I  can  understand  it  now,"  he  said 
gravely.  But  he  was  not  thinking  of  her,  but  of 
another.  It  was  not  from  her  that  he  had  learned 
this  truth. 

She  looked  up  quickly.  Her  sobs  had  ceased 
with  extraordinary  suddenness.  He  noticed  a 
light  in  her  eyes.  He  wondered  if  she  really  fan- 
cied that  she  had  triumphed. 

"Oh,  Byron,  why  did  you  come  into  my  life?" 
she  cried,  almost  piteously. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  that  for  some  months," 
he  said. 

"What?  and  you  talked  of  Destiny— you  con- 
soled me  by  declaring  that  it  was  your  destiny," 
she  said  quickly. 

"  Did  I  ?  Did  it  console  you,  Caroline  ? "  he  asked. 

"  It  did  at  the  time.  I  gave  up  everything  for 
you,  Byron." 


448  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"You  told  me  that  you  gave  up  several  men 
for  me — you  mentioned  their  names.  But  I  de- 
serve your  reproaches." 

"  I  have  never  reproached  you." 

"  That  was  your  generosity.  But  I  have  never 
ceased  to  reproach  myself." 

"If  I  have  led  you  to  do  that  I  am  glad  that 
I  came  here  to-day." 

"  I  have  been  asking  myself  why  you  came  here 
to-day.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  answered  me. 
But  as  I  have  told  you,  your  visit  was  unneces- 
sary. Still,  your  coming  has  made  me  reproach 
myself  still  further.  Well,  as  you  have  accom- 
plished your  mission,  perhaps " 

She  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant. 

"You  would  turn  me  out  of  your  house?"  she 
cried.  "You  fling  me  away?  You  spurn  me 
from  your  presence  with  gibes? " 

"  My  dear  Caroline,  I  am  thinking  only  of  your- 
self," he  said.  "I  pray  of  you  not  to  give  me 
cause  for  any  further  self-reproach.  Even  your 
reputation — people  have  cruel  tongues." 

"Your  tongue  is  the  most  cruel,"  she  cried. 
"I  have  dared  all  for  your  sake.  There  was  a 
time " 

"There  never  was  a  time  when  I  should  have 
been  indiscreet  enough  to  ask  you  to  pay  me  a 
solitary  visit  at  my  house,"  said  he. 

"You  are  a  wretch!  But  I  know  who  incul- 
cated these  notions  of  propriety  upon  you.  There 
is  only  one  person  who  could  do  it.  You  were  a 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  449 

changed  man  from  the  day  she  forced  herself  into 
my  room  and  found  you  there.     Belle  Milbanke! 
You  do  not  know  her;   but  I  have  known  her 
She    always   hated   me;    she   mocked   me-this 
timid  country -bred  girl!" 

"Take  my  advice,  Caroline,  the  last  I  may  ever 
give  you.  Go  back  to  your  home  and  your  child- 
ren, and  pray  to  Heaven  to  give  you  the  heart  of  a 
little  child— the  heart  of  Belle  Milbanke.  I  can- 
not tell  you  to  leave  my  house,  but  I  can  leave 
you  in  it  alone." 

He  went  toward  the  door.  She  easily  inter- 
cepted him.  Her  movements  were  more  than  ever 
like  those  of  a  panther. 

"You  will  never  be  the  cur  to  do  that,"  she 
cried.  "  Oh,  Byron,  Byron,  why  did  you  not  let 
me  kill  myself  just  now  ?  Give  me  that  dagger — 
give  it  to  me  again." 

She  was  frantic;  but  she  was  also  tired.  She 
had  become  frantic  three  times  within  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  He  looked  into  her  face  and  saw 
that  she  was  acting.  She  had  been  treating  him 
as  if  he  had  been  a  fool. 

"Give  me  the  dagger,"  she  gasped. 
In  an  instant  he  had  turned  round,  pale  with 
anger.  He  snatched  up  the  weapon.  She  thought 
that  he  was  about  to  kill  her.  She  gave  a  woman's 
shriek  and  cowered  before  him.  He  thrust  the 
haft  into  her  hand,  crying : 

"  There — take  it — take  it.  I  will  not  stop  you 
this  time." 


45°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

He  was  gone  from  the  room  before  she  was 
aware  that  the  weapon  was  in  her  hand. 

He  hurried  down  the  hall,  but  paused  when 
half-way  to  the  porch  door.  He  heard  the  clang 
of  the  dagger  on  the  floor  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  he  laughed.  Then  he  heard  the  door  opened 
quickly  and  the  sound  of  her  voice;  she  was 
laughing;  but  he  knew  that  her  laugh  was  that 
of  a  woman  whose  cheeks  are  still  pale  from  a 
recent  terror.  He  waited  until  she  came  up  to 
where  he  stood.  She  was  pallid  as  death. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  have  rain  before  I  reach 
the  Grange:  I  am  the  guest  of  my  dear  friend, 
Mrs.  Maudsley,  of  the  Grange:  you  know  her?" 
she  said  quite  calmly. 

"I  have  not  that  honour,"  he  replied.  "Your 
carriage " 

"  It  is  an  open  one :  I  ordered  it  to  wait  for  me 
at  your  gates,"  she  said. 

"A  pair  of  black  horses?  I  saw  it  some  dis- 
tance up  the  road  as  I  came  through  the  gates. 
I  hope  the  rain  will  be  delayed.  Good-bye." 

She  glanced  back  at  him  from  the  porch:  a 
footman  was  holding  the  door  open  for  her. 

"Au  revoir,  my  lord,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  him. 

"Good-bye,"  said  he. 

She  went  down  the  steps.  The  man  closed  the 
door,  and  Byron  strolled  back  to  the  drawing- 
room.  He  picked  up  the  dagger  from  the  floor 
and  searched  about  the  legs  of  the  sofa  for  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  451 

sheath  which  she  had  hurled  away  from  her. 
After  some  trouble  he  found  it.  It  was  nothing 
the  worse  for  its  ill-treatment ;  nor  was  the  blade 
of  the  weapon;  he  examined  it  with  some  care 
before  replacing  it  in  its  sheath.  He  smiled  while 
he  fastened  it  upon  its  hook  on  the  wall ;  but  his 
smile  did  not  last. 

He  had  got  rid  of  her,  but  not  without  a  dis- 
play of  some  brutality.  He  was  fully  conscious 
of  this  fact,  and  the  satisfaction  that  he  felt  at 
his  achievement  was  almost,  but  not  altogether, 
neutralised  by  his  reflection  upon  the  means  he 
had  thought  necessary  to  employ  in  order  to 
effect  it.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that 
he  was  to  blame  for  the  closeness  of  their  associa- 
tion the  previous  year  in  London.  He  had  heard 
a  good  deal  about  Lady  Caroline  from  his  friends, 
and  yet  he  had,  out  of  sheer  wilfulness — in  ex- 
actly that  spirit  which  he  displayed  all  his  life  in 
rejecting  the  warnings  of  his  friends — taken  upon 
him  the  playing  of  a  part  in  that  comedie  &  deux 
which  was  entirely  to  his  taste. 

And  the  last  act  in  this  little  comedy  had  just 
been  played  with  great  spirit  in  his  drawing-room 
—he  did  not  include  in  the  play  her  rentree  to 
the  hall,  where  she  had  become  commonplace,  but 
commonplace  with  a  certain  sublimity  due  to  the 
effect  of  her  sudden  recovery  of  self-possession— 
the  last  act  with  its  tawdry  heroics  and  the  usual 
dagger  of  the  ill-treated  heroine. 

How  well  she  had  managed  to  maintain  the 


45 2  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

traditions  associated  with  her  appearance  in  so- 
ciety !  He  did  not  believe  that  she  had  seen  the 
dagger  on  the  wall  when  waiting  for  him  to  ar- 
rive; he  felt  confident  that  it  had  merely  caught 
her  eye  hanging  there  when  he  had  uttered  his  un- 
worthy taunt,  and  she  had  thought  it  a  pity  that 
so  opportune  a  "property" — in  stage  language — 
should  be  wasted. 

And  she  had  actually  deceived  him  just  as 
Xenxis  had  deceived  his  brother  painter.  They 
had  been  associates  in  the  comedy,  and  yet  she 
had  only  to  become  a  little  extravagant  to  make 
him  believe  that  she  was  in  earnest.  She  had 
made  a  fool  of  him  up  to  the  last. 

He  accepted  that  as  the  penalty  for  his  folly 
in  allowing  himself  to  join  in  her  original  fooling, 
and  he  considered  that  accounts  between  them 
were  now  square.  But  as  he  stood  at  the  window 
and  looked  out  into  the  grey  day  on  the  eve  of 
June,  he  wondered  if  he  would  have  received  Lady 
Caroline  in  precisely  the  same  way  as  he  had,  if 
he  had  not  come  straight  to  her  from  watching 
that  piece  of  horsemanship  which  Mary  Chaworth 
had  displayed. 

He  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  although  the 
woman  had  tired  him  with  her  tantrums  long 
ago,  still  it  was  rather  fortunate  both  for  her  and 
himself  that  he  arrived  feeling  some  bitterness  in 
his  heart  against  womankind  in  general. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TIE  dismissed  the  actress  from  his  thoughts  as 
1  1  easily  as  one  dismisses  the  story  of  a  dull 
play— as  easily  as  one  forgets  a  morning  rainbow, 
a  meteor's  trail,  a  rocket's  golden  whirl.  He  was 
not  in  a  mood  for  comedy. 

He  was  not  without  hope.     He  went  every  day 
to  the  knoll  and  waited — sometimes  for  an  hour, 
sometimes  until  late  in  the  afternoon.     His  horse 
did  not  need  to  be  guided;   it  turned  its  head 
directly  toward  his  destination  the  moment  it 
went  through  the  entrance  gates.     He  knew  that 
if  she  wished  to  see  him,  Mary  would  at  once  go 
to  the  knoll.     But  she  did  not  come  to  him.     She 
dared  not  trust  herself.     She  had  saved  herself 
once,  but  not  by  trusting  to  her  own  principles,— 
principles  never  yet  saved  a  woman  from  love,— 
but  by  the  speed  of  her  horse ;  and  she  would  not 
trust  herself  again. 

That  was  how  he  came  to  think  of  her  absence 
after  a  week  of  fruitless  visits  to  the  trysting- 
place.  She  had  no  need  of  him.  She  found  that 
she  could  continue  living  under  the  conditions 
which  prevailed  at  Annesley  Hall,  and  without 
seeking  help  from  him.  He  never  saw  her  either 
on  her  horse  or  in  her  carriage  on  the  roads.  He 

453 


454  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

might  as  well  have  been  living  a  thousand  miles 
away  from  her.  Only  once  during  this  time  did 
he  hear  anything  about  Annesley  Hall.  His  in- 
formation came  from  Vince. 

Of  course,  Vince  found  in  the  narrative  a  great 
deal  that  was  humorous  and  picturesque — yes, 
picturesque  from  the  standpoint  of  an  artist  who 
confines  his  practice  to  the  grotesque  and  the 
bizarre. 

"  I  had  it  from  Charles,  a  footman,  with  morals 
and  an  occasional  purple  eye  —  in  its  earlier 
stages  —  saffron  overhung  by  a  thunder-cloud  in 
its  later,"  said  Vince,  assuming  the  pose  of 
the  amused  narrator,  fastidious  of  details  and 
conscious  of  the  incongruous,  so  long  as  it  does 
not  detract  from  the  design  of  the  composition. 
"  Charles  was  faithful  to  his  principles  as  well  as 
to  his  plush,  hence  the  local  inflammation  which 
caused  the  discoloration  around  the  eye.  But 
he  was  compensated,  and  compensation  really 
means  consolation  in  such  cases  as  his." 

"So  much  for  Charles  and  his  black  eye;  an 
excellent  prologue  to  the  tragedy — or  is  it  a  farce  ? 
I  think  it  must  be  a  tragedy  that  you  have  to 
relate,  you  look  so  amused,"  said  Byron. 

"  The  classifying  of  a  drama  depends  only  upon 
the  temperament  of  the  one  who  undertakes  such 
a  duty,"  said  Vince.  "The  funniest  comedies 
that  I  ever  saw  were  those  that  had  set  out  as 
tragedies.  I  have  exploded  over  the  last  scene 
in  Hamlet  acted  in  a  barn,  simply  because  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  455 

Prince  of  Denmark  and  Laertes  fought,  the  one 
with  a  shovel,  the  other  with  a  poker  belonging 
to  a  different  set  of  fire-irons.  So  the  impression 
of  tragedy  is  dependent  upon  the  thickness  of  a 
lath  of  iron." 

"  Therefore  an  incident  should  be  narrated  be- 
fore it  is  classified;  and  I  am  not  yet  in  a  posi- 
tion to  put  a  name  on  the  one  which  tarries  on 
your  telling,"  said  Byron. 

"True.  The  demon  probity  is  the  offspring 
of  a  country  life  and  abundant  leisure,"  said 
Vince.  "Charles  of  the  purple  eye  was  abun- 
dantly prolix  when  he  came  to  me  for  advice; 
but  perceiving  his  fault  I  should  have  refrained 
from  indulging  in  it  myself." 

"  Is  that  a  specimen  of  the  morality  of  Charles? " 
asked  Byron.  "  If  so,  't  is  sound,  though  coming 
from  a  man  with  a  black  eye." 

"His  morality  was  not  inflamed,"  said  Vince. 
"  But  't  is  not  for  a  servant  to  criticise  his  mas- 
ter's visitors." 

"Was  morality  one  of  them?"  asked  Byron. 

"On  the  contrary,  it  was  Mrs.  Ramsden  who 
appeared  at  Annesley  Hall,"  said  Vince.  "Mrs. 
Ramsden,  large,  a  peony  among  the  roses  of 
womankind;  vivid,  with  a  laugh.  She  was  Mr. 
Musters 's  latest  flame." 

"Flame?— a  firebrand.  I  have  seen  her  and 
heard  her,"  said  Byron. 

"  It  is  not  possible  that  she  was  there  when  you 
went  to  dinner?"  said  Vince, 


456  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"  Not  at  first :  she  came  in  later.  I  knew  that 
it  would  interest  you  too  much  to  hear  about  her, 
so  I  refrained  from  telling  you." 

"I  can  appreciate  your  reticence.  Reticence 
implies  confidence,  though  many  people  are  super- 
ficial and  think  just  the  contrary.  But  you  did 
know  who  the  woman  was?  " 

"Not  exactly.  But  I  saw  the  woman — a 
flame,  a  firebrand,  one  of  Sir  Humphry's  thou- 
sand-candle beacons  to  be  a  warning  to  mariners. 
Is  there  a  Mr.  Ramsden?  Was  there  ever  a  Mr. 
Ramsden?  Was  he  her  husband,  and  if  so  was 
she  ever  married  to  him?" 

"  All  pertinent  questions  suggested  by  the  glare 
of  the  lady.  It  is  understood  that  Mr.  Ramsden 
is  her  husband — an  Indian  Nabob  who  may  re- 
side in  Ormuz,  so  well  endowed  is  his  wife.  She 
has  been  in  her  house  for  a  year,  with  several 
changes  of  maids,  and  now  she  has  brought 
painters  and  furniture  tailors  into  the  place  to 
add  to  its  attractiveness." 

"Mr.  Musters  hinted  at  that  as  an  excuse — if 
such  were  needed — for  her  visit  to  Annesley." 

"A  visit  which  terminated  day  before  yester- 
day— not  without  recrimination.  You  see,  it  is 
impossible  to  be  close  to  a  flame  without  getting 
heated." 

"And  Mr.  Musters  got  burnt?" 

"It  was  at  breakfast  two  days  ago.  Charles 
was  in  waiting — but  he  thinks  it  must  have  begun 
earlier.  She  had  the  bad  taste  to  call  him  a  sot 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  457 

because  the  honest  English  squire  prefers  a  bowl 
of  rum  and  milk,  with  a  couple  of  eggs  beaten  in, 
for  breakfast,  to  the  more  usual  chocolate.  He 
objected  to  the  word,  and  his  objection  took  the 
form  of  flinging  her  chocolate  pot  out  of  the  win- 
dow without  going  through  the  preliminary  of 
raising  the  sash.  She  retorted  by  upsetting  his 
rum  over  the  table,  and  that  upset  his  setter, 
Dolphin  by  name,  who  was  sitting  by  his  master's 
chair.  The  gentleman  hurled  a  hot  muffineer  at 
her  which  she  just  escaped,  and  in  responding 
with  a  dish-cover  from  the  cutlets,  not  being 
accustomed  to  the  ranges  of  the  room,  she  sent 
her  missile  pretty  fairly  into  the  centre  of  the 
lustre  chandelier.  A  carving  knife  upraised — the 
lady's  shriek — Charles's  interference  and  his  con- 
sequent wound,  made  up  the  battle  of  the  break- 
fast table." 

Byron  roared  with  laughter. 

"  It  is  an  epic,"  he  cried.  "  It  is  Homeric ;  but 
the  dish-cover  among  the  lustres  is  distinctly 
Miltonic." 

"  Charles  spoke  of  a  few  incidental  lyrics  after 
the  room  had  begun  to  look  untidy  —  trifling 
with  poised  plates— flinging  forks,  plate  holders, 
a  toast-rack,— the  pistol  fire  of  the  pitched 

battle-    -" 

"Lyrics— the  pistol  fire  is  the  lyrical  element 
of  a  campaign,  the  cannon  fire  is  the  epic.  And 
it  all  arose  over  a  remark  of  the  lady  who  pre- 
ferred chocolate  to  rum  for  breakfast?" 


458  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"Ah,  so  poor  Charles  believes,  but  he  dropped 
a  word  or  two  in  the  course  of  his  prolixity  that 
were  to  me  as  the  taking  of  a  lucifer  match  out 
of  its  tube — illuminating  in  an  instant.  The 
truth  must  be  faced,  though  Charles,  through 
causes  already  hinted  at  by  me,  insisted  on  by 
him,  does  not  see  things  just  now  so  clearly  as  he 
might ;  there  is  another  and  a  younger  lady  show- 
ing a  fluttering  pennon  above  the  amatory  ho- 
rizon— a  pennon  like  a  luring  finger,  signalling 
hope." 

"Ah,  a  cutter;  Mrs.  Ramsden  is  a  three- 
decker." 

"Without  being  impolite  it  may  be  said  that 
one  speaks  of  a  three-decker  and  Mrs.  Ramsden  in 
the  same  gender.  But  a  three-decker  is  ponder- 
ous when  one  wants  only  a  pleasure  yacht.  When 
we  want  a  pretty  bird  to  perch  on  our  finger  we 
do  not  buy  a  swan,  but  a  canary." 

"And  Mr.  Musters  has  found  this  out?" 

"A  canary — a  dainty  little  yellow  fluttering 
fluter — yellow,  golden." 

"You  know  her?" 

"  I  have  seen  her.  He  paid  a  visit  a  few  days 
ago  to  a  certain  Mrs.  Maudsley  of  the  Grange; 
he  met  her  there.  I  have  seen  her  driving  with 
Mrs.  Maudsley — a  golden  canary  petted  by  men 
under  the  name  of  Lady  Caroline  Lamb.  What, 
you  have  heard  of  her?" 

Byron  had  given  an  exclamation  as  soon  as 
the  name  of  Mrs.  Maudsley  of  the  Grange  was 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  459 

mentioned;  and  now  once  more  he  roared  with 
laughter.  The  untiring  Lady  Caroline  had 
thought  it  worth  her  while  to  annex  the  simple 
country  squire  of  very  country  manners  and  tastes. 
She  was,  as  Vince  had  described  her,  a  cutter  who 
could  capture  a  prize  in  the  shallowest  waters. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  have  heard  of  Lady  Caroline,"  he 
replied.  "Who  has  not  heard  of  her?  I  saw 
something  of  her  in  town  last  year." 

"Is  it  possible?  Then  you  will  be  the  more 
interested  in  the  story,"  said  Vince.  "It  seems 
that  he  went  to  the  Grange  one  day ;  I  believe  it 
was  the  very  day  after  Lady  Caroline  paid  her 
visit  to  you." 

"So  you  know  that,  too,  you  rascal?" 
"  I  looked  for  her  coming  every  day,"  said 
Vince.  "When  I  heard  how  she  had  attached 
herself  to  you  in  town  I  wondered  if  she  would 
let  you  have  a  rest  in  solitude  at  Newstead.  But 
to  the  story:  Mr.  Musters  visited  Mrs.  Maudsley 
alone — Mrs.  Ramsden  is  not  on  visiting  terms  with 
Mrs.  Maudsley — and  there  he  met  Lady  Caroline. 
It  looks  as  if  the  canary  had  hopped  on  to  his 
finger  without  a  moment's  delay;  and  he  was  fool 
enough  to  brag  of  it  to  Mrs.  Ramsden — Charles 
heard  him — when  she  was  unkind  to  him  the  next 
day.  She  somehow  heard  that  he  had  gone  a 
second  time  when  he  pretended  that  he  was  going 
to  the  Quarter  Sessions.  The  next  morning  the 
battle  was  pitched,  and  before  lunch  Mrs.  Rams- 
den left  Annesley  Hall  in  what  looked  like  a 


460  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

baggage  waggon,  Mr.  Musters  following  her,  but 
only  as  far  as  the  turn  that  leads  to  the  Grange, 
where  he  was  to  dine.  That  is  all  the  story  that 
Charles,  the  black-eyed,  had  to  tell,  except  the 
most  important  part  to  him — to  wit,  his  com- 
pensation for  the  abrasion.  The  question  of  its 
adequacy  or  inadequacy  would  not  interest  you." 

"  But  the  rest  of  the  story  compensates  for  the 
want  of  interest  as  to  his  compensation,"  said 
Byron.  "Vince,  that  woman  is  a  wonder!" 

"  You  will  need  to  give  me  other  tokens  of  the 
identity  of  the  one  to  whom  you  refer:  every 
woman  is  a  wonder.  To  which  of  the  phenomena 
do  you  refer?" 

"Did  you  think  that  I  meant  Mrs.  Ramsden? 
Oh,  Mr.  Vince,  do  not  make  a  pretence  of  ignor- 
ance for  the  sake  of  a  ban  mot,"  said  Byron.  "  I 
tell  you  that  she  is  a  wonder.  It  is  a  pity  that 
she  is  so  much  of  a  woman — that  is  her  only 
shortcoming." 

"Therefore  you  were  able  without  reasoning 
with  her  to  prevent  her  from  settling  at  New- 
stead?"  said  Vince. 

"I  don't  believe  that  she  intended  to  do  that," 
said  Byron.  "  But  't  would  be  folly  to  say  with 
any  degree  of  definiteness  what  were  her  inten- 
tions. Lady  Holland  used  to  affirm  that  her 
greatest  charm  was  that  one  never  knew  what  she 
would  do  next.  It  was  a  fearful  joy  entertaining 
her  for  a  single  evening  at  any  house." 

"That  is  the  sort  of  woman  one  tires  of  in  a 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  461 

very  short  time :  there  is  nothing  so  tiresome  as 
perpetual  novelty, ' '  said  Vince.  "  Will  the  squire 
be  disappointed  in  her,  do  you  think?" 

"Or  will  she  be  disappointed  in  the  squire?" 
said  Byron.  "  I  believe  that  the  disappointment 
will  be  mutual." 

"Yes,  eventually;  but  in  the  meantime " 

"  In  the  meantime  the  unhappiness  of  the  only 
good  woman  increases,"  said  Byron  in  a  low 
voice.  "Why  does  not  someone  kill  that  man?" 
he  added,  after  a  pause. 

"Would  such  an  act  of  justice  diminish  from 
her  unhappiness?"  said  Vince. 

"  Can  you  doubt  it?  "  said  Byron. 

"  Yes,  I  doubt  it,"  replied  Vince,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  thoughtful  half -minute.  "I  doubt  it.  But 
I  do  not  think  that  God  would  be  very  hard  on 
anyone  who  killed  Musters  before  he  kills  his 
wife." 

They  separated  without  another  word. 

One  of  the  two  at  least  was  not  in  want  of  a 
subject  for  thought  during  the  rest  of  the  day. 

What  was  to  be  the  end  of  this  history — this 
series  of  escapades  of  the  man  to  whom  Mary 
Chaworth  considered  herself  bound?  That  was 
the  question  which  occupied  all  Byron's  thoughts. 
She  had  told  him  that  her  husband's  fickleness 
would  be  certain  to  drive  Mrs.  Ramsden  from 
Annesley,  and  till  that  event  took  place  she  could 
only  be  patient.  To  think  of  it!  To  think  that 
she  was  counting  upon  her  husband's  fickleness  to 


462  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

give  her  a  chance  of  living  once  more  under  the 
same  roof  as  her  children! 

But  now  that  he  had  proved  even  more  fickle 
than  she  could  have  anticipated  that  he  would  be, 
she  had  not  got  any  nearer  to  the  feebly  satisfactory 
end  which  she  had  hoped  for  when  Mrs.  Ramsden 
should  take  her  departure.  What  was  she  to  hope 
for  now?  Was  she  content  that  the  conditions 
under  which  she  was  living  should  continue  for 
the  rest  of  her  life?  Was  she  willing  to  condone 
and  condone — a  fresh  condonation  every  week? 
Did  motherhood  so  crush  a  woman's  spirit  as  to 
make  her  ready  to  submit  to  any  humiliation 
rather  than  that  her  children  should  run  the 
chance  of  not  honouring  their  father? 

He  believed  that  her  whole  aim  in  life  was  to 
keep  her  children  living  in  ignorance  of  the  life 
their  father  led.  She  would  not  separate  herself 
from  him  lest  there  should  be  what  she  called  a 
"scandal" — as  if  the  scandal  of  her  continuing 
under  the  same  roof  with  him  was  not  the  greatest 
that  could  exist! 

But  all  such  questions  as  that  of  the  relative 
proportion  of  the  scandals  were  insignificant  com- 
pared with  the  question  of  how  long  was  the 
existing  scandal  to  continue?  Was  there  any 
loop-hole  of  escape  for  her  from  the  detestable 
position  which  she  had  accepted  with  resignation? 
She  was  little  more  than  a  girl,  and  was  she  to 
spend  the  best  years  of  her  life  as  the  past  fort- 
night had  been  passed?  What  had  she  to  look 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  463 

forward  to  except  misery  until  her  old  age- 
rather  until  her  husband  was  made  forcibly  aware 
of  the  limitations  that  age  brought  upon  a  man? 
I  she  had  anything  to  hope  for  in  the  future 
she  might  with  some  show  of  reason  make  up  her 
mind  to  be  resigned  to  an  intermediate  unhappi- 
ness;   but,  though  innocent,  she  had  accepted  a 
life  s  sentence  to  misery  and  humiliation  without 
any  but  the  slightest  sign  of  rebellion. 

He  lost  all  patience  thinking  of  her  submission. 
In  the  force  of  his  passionate  thoughts  he  struck 
at  obstacles  in  his  room  with  his  fist.     He  knocked 
over  a  chair  and  kicked  it  in  a  cowardly  way  as 
it  lay  upon  the  floor,  he  flung  his  box  of  pens  on 
the  floor  and  stamped  upon  it,  simply  because  his 
stamping  caused  it  to  make  a  little  tapping  noise 
against  the  side  of  a  glass  dish.     He  was  as  in- 
sanely enraged  in  thinking  over  this  thing,  which 
certainly  was  of  vital  importance  to  himself,  as 
most  men  are,  for  a  second  or  two,  over  irritating 
trifles.     His  demonstration  did  not  last  longer 
than  a  second  or  two,  and  then  he  flung  himself 
into  a  chair,  his  hair  tossed,  his  knuckles  bleeding. 
He  felt  disagreeably  flushed,  and  he  had  a  sense 
of  his  own  impotence  to  take  any  action  that 
would  be  likely  to  be  productive  of  good. 

He  had  found  the  story  of  Musters 's  quarrel 
with  his  guest  highly  amusing;  but  the  picture 
that  now  came  before  his  mind  of  the  white  girl, 
standing  at  the  half-open  door  of  her  solitary 
room  upstairs,  terrified  at  the  crashing  of  the 


464  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

glass  in  the  breakfast-room — the  shouts  of  the 
man — the  shrieks  of  the  woman, — trembling,  not 
knowing  what  was  about  to  take  place,  was  not 
one  that  moved  him  to  laughter.  How  had  she 
lived  through  it?  What  sort  of  life  was  hers  in 
these  days?  Pitiful!  Pitiful! 

And  yet  he  could  not  do  anything  to  help  her! 
She  would  not  allow  him  to  make  any  move  on 
her  behalf.  She  had  drawn  a  barred  shutter  be- 
tween herself  and  him — this,  although  he  was 
ready  to  put  his  arm  about  her  and  carry  her  into 
a  new  life  where  she  would  know  only  happiness. 
That  vision  of  his  island  that  mirrored  itself  in 
the  sapphire  sea  came  before  him  once  again — 
vivid,  placid — an  orange  grove,  a  riot  of  roses. 
.  .  .  It  was  waiting  for  them,  and  yet  she 
would  not  come — she  would  not  come.  She  was 
ready  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  waiting  at  a 
half -open  door  for  the  next  terror  that  was  coming. 

And  he  could  do  nothing! 

He  had  promised  Vince  to  inspect  on  the  next 
day  a  vehicle  which  the  latter  had  designed  for 
himself,  employing  a  local  wheelwright  to  build 
it  out  of  the  remains  of  the  carriages  which  had 
been  bequeathed  to  him,  in  the  true  satirical 
spirit,  by  his  father,  in  addition  to  the  annuity 
on  which  he  lived  in  his  cottage  in  something 
more  than  comfort.  The  vehicle  was  a  sort  of 
dog-cart,  but  heavy,  and  Vince 's  horse  took 
rather  a  prejudice  against  it  the  moment  he  saw 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  465 

it.  Byron  assisted  in  persuading  him  to  entrust 
himself  to  the  embrace  of  the  shafts,  which,  hav- 
ing originally  belonged  to  a  chaise,  were  unpro- 
portionately  stout  for  the  new  vehicle ;  but  Vince 
would  not  allow  him  to  join  him  in  trying  the 
animal  in  the  cart.  The  animal  allowed  himself 
to  be  warped  by  his  prejudices  even  when  be- 
tween the  protective  shafts.  He  showed  his  un- 
easiness in  many  ways,  and  only  after  a  long 
struggle  did  Vince  persuade  him  to  go  through 
the  entrance  gates.  He  returned  after  an  hour's 
argument  with  the  horse  on  the  road.  Of  course, 
the  man  had  got  the  best  of  the  argument,  but  he 
would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  had  con- 
vinced the  animal  that  the  new  machine  was 
harmless. 

But  while  Byron  was  spending  that  hour  in 
exercise  outside  the  gates,  a  lady,  driving  her 
own  phaeton  and  pony,  pulled  up  beside  him  with 
a  cheerful  greeting.  He  had  no  difficulty  in 
recognising  the  figure,  features,  and,  crowning  all, 
the  hat  of  Mrs.  Ramsden.  She  nodded  her 
plumes  until  they  swept  over  his  hair,  but  he 
escaped  their  effect  by  an  exercise  of  politeness, 
bowing  to  her  as  if  she  were  the  Princess,  the 
generosity  of  whose  proportions  she  all  but 
equalled. 

"  I  could  not  resist  the  opportunity  of  recom- 
mending myself  to  your  lordship,  though  I  had 
only  the  honour  of  meeting  your  lordship  once 
before, ' '  she  said.  "  But  I  hold  that 't  is  the  duty 


466  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

of  neighbours  to  be  neighbourly,  and,  besides, 
Lord  Byron,  the  lord  of  poets,  has  no  greater  ad- 
mirer than  my  humble  self." 

"You  overwhelm  me,  my  dear  madam,"  said 
Byron,  with  another  bow. 

"  I  have  ever  been  from  a  child  a  worshipper  of 
the  Muse,"  cried  the  lady,  with  some  pride. 

"  And  I  trust  that  the  Muse  has  responded  with 
a  grant  of  inspiration,  madam,"  said  Byron.  "I 
trust  that  the  public  will  have  an  opportunity  of 
becoming  acquainted  with  your  style.  The  world 
it  waiting." 

"Oh,  my  lord,  you  flatter  me;  my  poor  at- 
tempts would  not  be  worth  the  printing,"  she 
cried,  in  all  the  pride  of  self -depreciation.  "  But 
if  your  lordship  really  condescends  to  take  an 
interest  in  my  trifles,  I  should  feel  honoured  by 
a  visit." 

"At  Annesley  Hall?"  said  Byron  maliciously. 

"At  Annesley?  Good  heavens,  no!"  shrieked 
the  lady.  "  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  Annesley  and 
that  odious  man.  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  his  name . ' ' 

"  I  am  the  better  pleased  that  I  have  not  men- 
tioned it,"  said  Byron. 

"  A  dangerous  man,  my  lord.  He  believes  him- 
self to  be  quite  irresistible  to  ladies ;  but,  for  my 
part,  I  have  never  thought  of  him  as  anything 
beyond  a  blustering  country  lout.  He  knows 
nothing  of  modest  women." 

"What,  although  you  were  his  guest  for  some 
days,  Mrs.  Ramsden?" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  467 

"  Do  not  taunt  me  with  my  innocence,  my  lord. 
If  in  my  simplicity  I  attributed  to  him  a  benevo- 
lence which  was  really  only  the  trail  of  the  serpent 
• — the  trail  of  the  serpent,  I  repeat — was  I  so 
greatly  to  blame?  He  found  me  in  the  midst  of 
my  builders'  mess,  and  when  he  almost  carried 
me  off  by  main  force,  I  thought  him  the  soul  of 
kindness  and  hospitality.  My  lord,  I  was  soon 
undeceived.  Honour? — the  wretch  does  not  know 
what  the  word  means.  But,  thank  Heaven,  my 
principles  are  inseparable  from  my  life  even  when 
I  go  on  a  week's  visit  away  from  home.  The 
man's  attentions  were  never  otherwise  than  odious 
to  me,  and  to  escape  his  persecution  I  fled  from 
his  house.  It  may  have  been  ungenteel,  still,  my 
lord,  I  ask  you,  what  is  a  reputation  for  gentility 
compared  to — to " 

"To  a  reputation  for — for — reputation?  You 
were  quite  right,  Mrs.  Ramsden.  Honourable 
people  will  acquit  you  of  any  charge  of  impolite- 
ness. What,  madam,  if  one  knows  that  one's 
host  is  about  to  offer  one  poison  in  his  wine,  is  one 
to  be  called  impolite  for  rejecting  the  cup?" 

"  I  am  fortified  by  the  excellent  views  of  your 
lordship  on  this  delicate  subject.  And  now  they 
say  that  the  fellow  has  taken  up  with  a  tiny  wisp 
of  a  woman  who  is  staying  at  the  Grange.  Has 
your  lordship  seen  her  yet?" 

Byron  marvelled  at  this  woman's  having  hit 
upon  the  "wisp";  he  thought  that  the  sobriquet 
was  of  his  own  invention. 


468  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"I  believe  that  I  did  see  a  somewhat  slight 
lady — "  he  began. 

"Slight?"  came  the  lady's  crescendo,  interrupt- 
ing him.  "Slight?  Why,  the  creature  is  a  mere 
wand — a  barley  stock — and  her  hair,  whether  it  is 
her  own  or  not,  is  five  shades  at  least  too  light  for 
her  complexion.  The  poor  thing  looks  such  a 
silly  piece,  however,  it  would  be  but  an  act  of 
charity  to  warn  her  against  that  man.  Plain  and 
all  though  she  may  be — even  when  disguised  by 
art  to  a  distasteful  degree, — she  should  not  be  con- 
demned to  suffering — perhaps  ruin.  How  do  you 
feel  on  this  subject,  my  lord?" 

"The  matter  is  too  delicate  for  my  handling, 
madam,"  said  Byron. 

"Well,  perhaps  that  may  be  so,"  said  the  lady. 
"At  any  rate,  I  hope  that  I  shall  have  the  honour 
of  a  visit  from  your  lordship  before  many  days 
have  passed.  Your  lordship  may  count  upon  a 
hearty  welcome.  I  promise  your  lordship  better 
entertainment  than  may  be  obtained  from  read- 
ing my  humble  verses,"  she  added,  with  a  roguish 
coiling  and  uncoiling  of  the  lash  of  her  whip. 

"  I  ask  for  no  more  intellectual  enjoyment  than 
may  be  derived  from  a  perusal  of  your  poems, 
Mrs.  Ramsden,"  said  Byron. 

Mrs.  Ramsden  smiled  rather  broadly  and  then 
laughed. 

"I  have  heard  that  you  are  wicked, ':  she  said; 
"but  you  must  promise  to  visit  me  in  a  purely 
intellectual  spirit." 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  469 

"Mrs.  Ramsden,  I  shall  shave  my  head  and 
come  in  the  disguise  of  the  Prior  of  Newstead," 
said  he. 

"Hush!"  she  said  reprovingly;  "that  borders 
on  the  impious.  But  I  vow  that  I  shall  count  the 
days  until  I  can  welcome  you.  In  the  meantime 
you  may  have  an  opportunity  of  warning  that 
barley  stock — she  really  is  like  a  barley  stock — 
that  Mr.  Musters  is  a  rascal,  with  no  sense  of 
honour  and  only  the  feeblest  appreciation  of  good 
looks  in  a  lady.  I  wish  your  lordship  good- 
morning." 

She  put  her  pony  in  motion,  leaving  Byron 
bowing  bareheaded  on  the  roadside.  She  had 
driven  round  the  bend  in  the  road  before  he 
laughed. 


CHAPTER  X 

HE  could  stand  the  inaction  no  longer.  Every 
day  he  found  himself  facing  that  question, 
What  is  to  be  the  end  of  the  business?  Why  was  he 
down  here  at  Newstead  living  the  life  of  a  her- 
mit? What  was  he  waiting  for?  What  did  he 
expect  to  happen?  What  could  possibly  happen 
that  would  bring  about  a  change  in  the  situation 
of  matters  in  regard  to  Mary  and  himself?  Had 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  follow  her  example  and 
to  spend  the  rest  of  his  life  praying  for  patience? 
He  felt  that  he  had  great  need  to  begin  his  prayers 
without  further  delay. 

He  had  ridden  to  the  knoll  a  couple  of  days 
after  his  pleasant  little  chat  with  Mrs.  Ramsden, 
not  because  he  retained  any  hope  of  meeting  her 
there,  but  simply  for  the  sake  of  assigning  some 
destination  to  his  ride.  He  felt  very  mournful 
before  setting  out,  and  as  he  rode  slowly  along  the 
roads  and  across  the  country,  he  did  not  find  him- 
self becoming  more  cheerful.  Never  before  had 
his  recollection  of  the  lovely  autumn  day  when  he 
had  first  gone  over  this  ground  with  her  by  his 
side  been  so  vivid.  It  was  not  merely  that  he 
had  a  general  sense  of  what  had  been  in  his  heart 
at  that  time — the  exultation  which  had  followed 

470 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  471 

her  unconscious  revelation  of  the  night  before; 
added  to  this  he  was  able  to  recall  the  minor 
impressions  which  had  been  his  on  that  morning. 
Once  again  he  sat  upon  his  horse  among  the  trees 
of  the  "diadem"  of  the  little  hill  and  thought  of 
how  she  had  pointed  with  her  whip  to  the  man 
in  the  distance  who  was  coming  toward  them. 
He  remembered  how  he  had  clutched  at  the  pom- 
mel of  his  saddle  when  she  spoke  those  words — 
those  deathless,  deadly  words, — "  the  man  whom  I 
have  promised  to  marry";  and  he  had  gazed  down 
the  slope  and  seen  the  man  advancing  slowly,  as 
it  seemed,  but  inexorably  as  Fate.  Mary  had  not 
smiled  at  that  time.  He  had  never  forgotten  that. 
He  wondered  if  she  had  had  a  presentiment  of  the 
part  that  man  was  destined  to  play  in  her  life. 
For  himself  he  knew  that  he  had  had  no  such 
consciousness.  He  had  hated  the  man  who  was 
shutting  him  out  from  happiness,  but  he  had 
never  thought  that  Mary  would  be  otherwise  than 
happy  with  that  man. 

Now  he  looked  across  the  green  landscape  and 
longed  for  his  approach.  After  all,  it  would  be 
better  than  an  aimless  waiting — the  crash  that 
would  come  when  he  fell  upon  the  man  with  the 
thong  of  his  riding  whip  round  his  hand  and  the 
horn  at  the  other  end  swinging  above  his  head. 
Perhaps  the  man  would  beat  him  to  death,  but 
he  felt  that  even  that  would  be  preferable  to  the 
inaction  which  had  become  unendurable.  He 
would  at  least  have  a  chance  of  avenging  Mary's 


472  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

wrongs  upon  the  body  of  the  burly  ruffian  who 
had  brought  misery  into  her  life. 

Before  he  quite  knew  what  was  in  his  mind  he 
found  himself  galloping  along  the  track  that  Mary 
had  taken  when  she  had  fled  from  him  a  fortnight 
before.  Down  he  went,  along  the  borders  of  the 
fields,  across  the  meadows,  as  hard  as  his  horse 
could  carry  him.  He  did  not  slacken  his  speed 
until  he  had  reached  the  gates  at  Annesley  Hall. 
His  horse  was  steaming  as  he  pulled  up  at  the 
porch  and  asked  for  Mr.  Musters. 

Mr.  Musters  was  not  at  home,  the  man  said. 
He  had  driven  off  in  the  morning  to  Quarter  Ses- 
sions— he  did  n't  know  what  Quarter  Sessions ; 
but  he  believed  that  that  was  what  his  master 
had  said. 

Byron  had  his  suspicions,  but  he  kept  them  to 
himself.  After  all,  why  should  Musters  have 
given  orders  that  he  was  to  be  denied  to  him? 
Whatever  Musters  was,  he  was  hardly  likely  to 
dread  meeting  such  an  antagonist  as  his  wife's 
cousin.  He  would  think  himself  capable  of  crush- 
ing the  life  out  of  all  the  poets  in  England  be- 
fore sitting  down  to  his  breakfast  of  rum  and 
milk. 

Byron  rode  slowly  away  from  the  Hall.  He 
did  not  make  any  inquiry  for  Mr.  Musters 's  wife. 
If  she  was  within  the  house  and  became  aware  of 
his  visit  and  of  his  riding  away  without  asking  to 
see  her,  she  would  know  that  he  was  still  loyal 
(formally  at  least)  to  the  spirit  of  the  incident 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  473 

that  parted  them.  He  had  not  pursued  her  that 
day ;  he  did  not  mean  to  pursue  her  now. 

He  rode  slowly  back  to  Newstead.  He  scarcely 
knew  whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry  that  the  im- 
pulse on  which  he  had  acted  was  frustrated.  It 
would  have  been  a  great  joy  to  him  to  break  the 
monotony  of  his  life  by  taking  a  swinging  blow 
at  that  man;  but  if  the  result  were  to  be  the 
death  either  of  himself  or  his  antagonist,  Mary 
would  be  the  sufferer;  and  all  that  he  had  been 
thinking  about  for  weeks  was  how  it  might  be 
possible  to  diminish  her  suffering. 

He  dismounted  at  his  own  porch,  the  groom 
took  the  horse,  and  he  entered  the  house.  He 
had  not  taken  half  a  dozen  steps  up  the  hall 
before  the  butler  came  quickly  forward,  saying: 

"Mrs.  Musters  awaits  your  lordship  in  the 
drawing-room." 

He  was  able,  as  usual,  to  control  himself  in  the 
presence  of  the  servants.  He  muttered  a  word 
or  two  about  having  ridden  too  far,  and  handed 
his  hat  and  whip  to  a  footman.  The  butler  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

He  greeted  her  formally  until  the  door  was 
closed  again ;  then  he  put  out  both  his  hands  to 
her. 

"  Mary— Mary— my  Mary,  you  have  come  at 
last,"  he  whispered. 

She  withdrew  a  step  or  two,  shaking  her  head 

sadly. 

"Ah,   Byron,"  she  said,    "I  hoped  that  you 


474  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

understood — surely  my  last  act  should  have  con- 
vinced you  that  I  was  in  earnest  in  all  that  I  said 
to  you." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  said  to  me  then.  I 
hope  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say  to  me 
now,"  he  cried.  "I  waited  for  you  at  the  knoll 
every  day  for  a  week.  I  hoped  that — but  you 
have  come  to  me  now." 

"  For  a  moment — only  for  a  moment,"  she  said. 
"  Byron,  I  know  that  I  can  trust  to  you — I  know 
that  you  will  be  generous — that  you  will  not  give 
me  pain." 

"  I  want  to  lead  you  by  the  hand  to  happiness, 
Mary." 

"  Then  you  will  never  again  speak  to  me  as  you 
spoke  when  we  last  met.  Do  not  think  so  meanly 
of  me  as  to  assume  that  I  could  ever  be  happy 
through  a  wrong-doing.  For  a  moment,  perhaps, 
I  had  a  sense  of  temptation.  It  is  past.  It  will 
never  return.  But  it  is  not  about  my  happiness 
that  I  came  hither  to  speak;  it  is  yours — your 
happiness,  my  dear  Byron." 

"You  cannot  speak  of  mine  without  speaking 
of  your  own ;  there  is  no  difference  between  them. ' ' 

"  That  is  true,  indeed,  for  I  can  only  be  happy 
if  I  know  that  your  happiness  is  assured.  I  want 
to  make  it  assured  in  the  only  way  possible." 

"There  is  only  one  way,  Mary,  and  you  know 
what  that  way  is." 

"  I  do.  I  am  about  to  point  it  out  to  you.  I 
got  a  letter  from  your  sister  Augusta  yesterday, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  475 

and  she  told  me  in  it  much  which  I  did  not  know 
before.  She  was  aware  of  the  good  feeling  that 
there  is  between  us,  and  she  was  sure  that  my 
influence  with  you  in  this  matter  would  be  of 
weight." 

"And  the  matter— what  is  the  nature  of  the 
matter?" 

"  Miss  Milbanke— I  did  not  know  that  you  had 
proposed  marriage  to  her  last  year." 

"  I  did  so.  I  fear  that  I  did  so  through  selfish 
motives.  An  impulse — it  was  a  sudden  impulse. 
I  had  been  foolish — she  seemed  a  sweet  girl — not 
knowing  my  own  heart  I  thought  that  you  were 

far  away  from  me ;  but  now " 

"  Now  I  am  farther  away  than  ever,  but  Miss 
Milbanke  is  closer,  Byron." 

"She  refused  me  very  promptly,  and  she  was 
right.  I  thank  her  daily." 

"I  believe  that  Augusta  has  seen  her;  at  any 
rate,  she  has  learned  that  Miss  Milbanke  is  disposed 
to  think  of  you  more  kindly  than  she  did— 

"  That  is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  she 
would  refuse  me  with  greater  emphasis." 

"  No ;  she  has  spoken  to  Augusta  of  you  with 
great  tenderness,  and  your  sister  left  it  to  me  to 
plead  with  you  on  her  behalf.  I  do  so,  Byron, 
with  all  my  heart.  I  believe  that  with  this  girl 
your  happiness  will  be  assured.  Such  an  influ- 
ence as  marriage  with  her  will  have  upon  you  is 
just  what  you  need  for  happiness.  Think  of  her 
in  this  house,  Byron;  she  will  make  it  a  home  for 


476  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

you — for  you,  my  poor  boy,  who  have  never 
known  what  a  home  is.  All  your  restlessness  will 
cease.  You  will  never  wish  to  wander  again." 

"She  is  nothing  to  me,  Mary.  If  you  are 
pleading  for  my  happiness  you  are  also  pleading 
against  the  best  interests  of  Miss  Milbanke — 
against  her  happiness.  I  do  not  love  her.  I  have 
never  loved  anyone  but  you,  Mary,  and  it  is 
impossible  that  I  should  ever  love  another.  Ah, 
my  dearest " 

"Byron,  for  heaven's  sake!  Ah,  I  trusted  you 
to  refrain  from  addressing  me  in  this  way,  or  I 
should  not  have  come  here  to-day.  You  have 
made  me  sorry  that  I  trusted  to  your  honour." 

"  We  may  never  meet  again,  Mary,  and  I  should 
never  forgive  myself  if  I  failed  to  speak  to  you 
directly  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.  I  know 
what  is  in  my  heart  now,  and  I  know  that  I  shall 
ever  love  you  and  you  only.  Ah,  my  love,  there 
is  still  time  for  happiness  in  our  life.  Come  to 
me — stay  with  me." 

"And  I  trusted  you — I  trusted  you,"  she  cried 
piteously.  "You  force  me  to  fly  as  you  did 
before,  but  this  is  for  the  last  time.  I  shall  never 
trust  you  again." 

She  spoke  with  passionate  vehemence,  facing 
him  with  dignity.  There  was  scorn  in  her  first 
sentences;  but  in  her  last  there  was  tenderness 
and  sorrow.  She  bowed  her  head  when  she  had 
spoken,  and  after  a  pause  of  only  a  second  or 
two  she  walked  to  the  door. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  477 

Byron  made  no  move.  He  stood  there  watch- 
ing her,  the  fervour  of  his  last  words  still  shaking 
him.  His  face  was  more  than  ever  like  that  of  a 
marble  statue.  He  watched  her  open  the  door 
and  pass  through  into  the  hall  without  so  much 
as  glancing  back  to  him. 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  bowed  his 
face  down  to  his  hands. 

He  had  only  been  seated  a  few  seconds  when 
he  heard  the  sound  of  the  door  being  quickly 
opened.  He  raised  his  head.  She  stood  there- 
at the  door  which  she  had  closed.  She  was 
deathly  pale  —  trembling  —  one  hand  pressed 
against  her  side. 

He  was  on  his  feet.  For  an  instant  the  glorious 
thought  overwhelmed  him  : 

"She  has  come  back  to  me — site  has  come  back 
tome!" 

It  was  only  for  an  instant. 
"He  is  here — my  husband — he  has  just  en- 
tered— I  heard  his  voice — he  is  coming  hither." 

She  gave  a  quick  glance  round  the  room.  She 
fled  for  a  door  at  the  farther  end.  It  was  fast- 
ened, but  the  key  was  in  the  lock.  She  turned 
it,  opened  the  door,  and  slipped  through,  closing 
it  behind  her. 

"  Of  course  he  '11  see  me — I  '11  take  devilish  good 
care  that  he  sees  me.  Don't  trouble  yourself  in- 
venting lies,  my  good  man.  The  fellow  in  the  hall 
said  the  drawing-room.  This  is  the  door.  I  know 
the  house  better  than  you  do.  Ha ! — here  we  are. " 


478  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

It  was  the  loud  voice  of  Mr.  Musters  that 
drowned  the  protestations  of  the  butler.  His 
voice  sounded  like  the  tramping  of  horses'  hoofs 
on  stone.  The  door  was  flung  open  and  he 
stalked  into  the  drawing-room  with  a  loud  guffaw, 
pointing  his  riding  whip  at  Byron,  with  a  shout  of, 

"  I  knew  it ;  of  course  he  is  in  here ! " 

Byron  had  seated  himself  at  the  moment  of 
Mary's  disappearance.  He  had  not  helped  her  to 
escape.  He  could  not  understand  the  cause  for 
her  trepidation.  Only  when  a  woman  has  been 
living  for  some  time  in  the  house  with  her  hus- 
band without  speaking  to  him,  she  would  scarcely 
care  to  be  discovered  by  him  in  another  man's 
house — that  was  the  thought  which  passed 
through  Byron's  mind  at  the  moment;  and  he 
felt  that  his  duty  to  Mary  compelled  him  to  act 
in  accordance  with  her  wishes.  He  knew  that 
the  room  beyond  the  door  through  which  she  had 
gone  communicated  with  the  hall,  so  that  she 
could  leave  the  house  when  she  pleased;  but  it 
would  be  necessary  for  him  to  detain  Musters  for 
some  time  to  allow  of  her  getting  out  of  the 
grounds  of  Newstead. 

He  rose  at  the  entrance  of  Musters,  saying : 

"  This  is  a  surprise ;  to  what  am  I  indebted  for 
the  honour  of 

Musters  gave  the  door  a  prod  with  his  riding 
whip  and  it  shut  with  a  bang;  then  he  advanced 
with  a  swagger  toward  Byron,  saying: 

"  I  want  to  have  a  chat  with  you,  Byron,  about 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  479 

Lady  Caroline  Lamb.  Now,  you  know  that  you 
have  behaved  bad— cursedly  bad— to  that  lady— 
you  can't  deny  it." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  had  better  not  make  the 
attempt  to  do  so,  Mr.  Musters,"  he  said  quietly. 

"You  had  much  better  not,"  said  Musters 
threateningly.  "Upon  my  soul,  you  behaved 
scurvily — I  never  heard  of  anything  much  worse." 

"Then  I  find  that  I  have  a  wider  experience 
than  you,  Mr.  Musters.  Shall  I  give  you  an  ex- 
ample of  what  I  call  more  scurvy  treatment  of  a 
lady?"  cried  Byron. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  discuss  the  niceties  of 
blackguardism,  let  me  tell  you,"  said  the  other. 

"No?  By  the  way,  what  did  you  come  here 
for,  Mr.  Musters?" 

"  I  wonder  you  are  not  ashamed  of  yourself — I 
do,  really,  Byron.  If  it  was  any  ordinary  lady 
one  should  n't  so  much  mind,  but  Lady  Caroline 
— a  lady  whose  beauty  and  accomplishments — a 
fair,  tender-hearted  young  creature — an  innocent 
child.  Oh,  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Byron ;  I  am 
ashamed  of  you,  upon  my  soul." 

"How  far  would  your  feeling  carry  you,  Mr. 
Musters?" 

"  How  far  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  If  you  come  with  me  I  '11  take  you  to  the  room 
in  which  my  predecessor  in  this  house  fought  his 
duel  with  that  Mr.  Chaworth  whose  picture  hangs 
in  the  hall  at  Annesley.  Lord  Byron  killed  his 
adversary.  Would  you  care  to  visit  that  room 


480  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

with  me,  Mr.  Musters?  I  might  be  able  to  show 
you  not  only  where  the  deed  was  done,  but  how 
it  was  done." 

Musters  laughed. 

"Keep  cool — keep  cool,  my  lad,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  fly  out  upon  me  like  that.  Sink  me  if  you 
are  not  a  young  fire-eater.  If  I  thought  for  a 
second  that  you  had  a  suspicion  of  my  courage,  I 
would  take  you  at  your  word;  but  I  know  that 
whatever  you  may  think  of  me,  you  don't  doubt 
my  courage." 

"I  certainly  do  not;  I  saw  you  entertaining 
Mrs.  Ramsden  as  a  guest,  and  now  I  understand 
that  you  are  championing  Lady  Caroline  Lamb," 
said  Byron. 

"Don't  speak  of  the  two  in  the  same  breath," 
said  Musters  confidentially.  "The  one — I  only 
meant  to  do  her  a  kindness ;  the  painters  and  the 
plasterers  had  made  her  house  unfit  to  dwell  in. 
I  invited  her  to  Annesley  out  of  pure  benevolence ; 
but  she  turned  out  a  hussy — it  served  me  right." 

"That  is  precisely  the  opinion  that  I  formed 
on  this  point.  I  am  so  glad  that  we  agree  there," 
said  Byron. 

"Don't  ever  mention  her  name  to  me  again, 
But  the  other — ah,  that  brings  us  back  to  the 
point.  You  know  that  you  behaved  very  badly 
to  her,  Byron — oh,  yes,  you  can't  deny  it." 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Musters,"  cried  Byron.  "I 
have  heard  that  statement  twice  from  you.  I  do 
not  wish  to  hear  it  again.  I  refuse  to  discuss  the 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  481 

matter  with  you  further.     If  she  has  constituted 

you  her  champion " 

"She  left  it  entirely  to  my  own  discretion," 
said  Musters.  "She  is  an  angel— a  poor,  ill- 
treated  saint,  sir.  I  do  not  know  how  you  had 
the  heart  to — but  there  is  no  use  in  talking  over 
her  wrongs, — her  husband— he  did  not  know  the 
treasure  that  he  had  found." 

"  Other  husbands  have  shown  themselves  to  be 
equally  dense,  Mr.  Musters,"  said  Byron. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Musters. 
"  I  mean  to  say  that  you — you,  married  to  the 
best,  the  noblest  woman  who  lives,  have  made 
her  life  a  hell  to  her,"  cried  Byron.  "You 
have  humiliated  her  in  her  own  house  as  few 
women  have  ever  been  humiliated.  You  have 

insulted " 

"Has  she  constituted  you  her  champion?" 
laughed  Musters. 

"Every  man  who  has  a  heart  in  his  body 
should  be  her  champion,  every  woman  should  feel 
that  you  have  insulted  her  sex  by  your  treatment 
of  Mary  Chaworth, ' '  cried  Byron.  He  had  sprung 
from  his  chair  and  spoken  with  passionate  vehe- 
mence, getting  closer  and  closer  to  the  other  until 
at  last  he  was  standing  over  him  with  clenched 
hands. 

Mr.  Musters  did  not  move.     He  sat  there  looking 
up  at  the  handle  of  his  riding  whip,  but  without 
making  any  suggestion  of  an  intention  to  use  it. 
"We  have  come  to  the  point  sooner  than  I 


482  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

expected,"  he  said,  without  any  show  of  anger  or 
even  irritation.  "  I  promised  Lady  Caroline  that 
I  would — well,  it  does  n't  matter  what  I  pro- 
mised; something  quite  different  was  on  my 
mind.  You  can  make  reparation;  you  can  do 
us  both  a  good  turn." 

"  I  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  either  you 
or  her,"  said  Byron,  crossing  the  room  with  his 
hands  behind  him. 

"A  man  is  as  God  made  him,"  said  Musters. 
"Can  I  help  it  if  I  am  indifferent  to-day  to  a 
woman  who  attracted  me  yesterday  ?  So  far  as  I 
can  see  that  is  how  everything  of  our  sex  was 
made  by  nature.  I  can't  see  that  in  this  way 
a  man  differs  from  the  rest  of  creation.  It  is 
that  accursed  thing  called  marriage  that  turns 
out  of  doors  all  of  nature  that  we  possess — the 
endowment  of  God,  mind  you, — and  makes  us 
sinners.  I  don't  blame  Mary,  but,  by  heaven,  I 
don't  blame  myself — no,  by  God,  not  that  I"  He 
snapped  his  fingers,  getting  upon  his  feet.  "  I  'm 
sick  of  the  bonds  of  marriage,  Byron." 

"  Bonds  ?  They  did  not  fetter  you  to  any  great 
extent,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  Mr.  Musters,"  said 
Byron,  turning  round  from  the  window  out  of 
which  he  had  been  looking  with  his  back  turned 
to  Mr.  Musters. 

"I  want  to  free  myself  altogether,"  said  Mus- 
ters. "Turn  round,  man,  and  listen  to  me  like 
a  Christian.  Are  you  aware  that  it  is  you  and 
not  I  whom  Mary  loves?" 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  483 

Byron  did  not  need  to  be  further  exhorted  to 
give  all  his  attention  to  what  the  man  was  saying. 
He  had  turned  round  in  a  moment,  grasping  the 
edge  of  one  of  the  curtains  so  spasmodically  as 
almost  to  jerk  it  off  its  ring. 

"  You  say  that  I— that  I "  he  began  in  a 

husky  voice. 

"  No ;  I  said  that  she— I  asked  you  if  you  knew 
that  she  has  loved  you  for  years." 

' '  How  could  I  know  that  ?  How  could  you  know 
it?" 

"I  found  it  out  by  accident  some  years  after 
we  were  married.  You  have  never  heard  that  she 
walks  in  her  sleep?" 

Byron  was  silent. 

"  It  is  the  truth.  I  found  her  one  night  in  the 
drawing-room — it  was  past  midnight.  I  heard 
the  sound  of  the  piano  and  her  voice;  she  was 
singing.  I  went  down-stairs  and  found  her  seated 
at  the  piano,  singing  that  song — you  may  have 
heard  it — The  Minstrel  Boy  to  the  War  is  Gone. 
When  she  had  ended  it  she  rose  and  picked  up  a 
miniature  portrait  of  you — it  was  done  from  the 
picture  which  your  mother  had  of  you,  and  was 
always  in  its  case  on  one  of  the  tables — she 
fondled  it  in  her  hands,  speaking  to  you,  calling 
you  her  minstrel  boy,  and  then  getting  frightened 
for  you — imploring  someone  not  to  kill  you,  and 
saying  that  she  loved  you.  ...  I  watched 
her  for  some  time.  She  never  awoke,  but  went 
up-stairs  to  her  room." 


484  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Byron,  who  was  still 
clutching  at  the  curtain;  his  lips  were  parted 
with  excitement,  his  eyes  gleaming. 

"Well — well?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  whispered 
inquiry. 

"Well?  That  is  all  there  is  to  tell,"  said  Mus- 
ters. "Don't  think  that  I  felt  jealous  of  you. 
Oh,  no;  even  then  I  was  past  feeling  jealous  of 
you." 

"Why  have  you  come  to  me  with  this  story?" 
said  Byron.  "  Why  have  you  told  me  that — that 
you  suppose  she  has — more  than  her  natural  feel- 
ing for  me — her  cousin? " 

"I  have  told  you  because  I  think  that  you 
should  know  exactly  how  we  stand,"  said  Mus- 
ters. Then  he  smiled  rather  uneasily,  adding: 

"She  is  still  an  attractive  woman,  Byron — 
there  are  scores  of  men  who  would  think  her 
beautiful.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  you  yourself 

.     anyhow,  it  is  no  harm  to  know. 
Oh,  I  am  not  jealous,  I  give  you  my  word;   in 
fact,    I   have   often   said  to  myself,    'Why    the 
mischief   did  she  not  marry  Byron  in  the  first 
instance?" 

"  In  the  first  instance  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you 
suggest  .  .  .  can  it  be  that  I  am  wrong  in 
interpreting  your  tone  ?  .  .  ." 

"  I  suggest  nothing ;  I  only  say  that  if  you  had 
married  her  long  ago  we  might  all  have  been 
happier  to-day." 

"That  is  true — whatever  you  mean  to  say,  be 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  485 

assured  that  that  is  true.     But  now  it  is  too 
late." 

Mr.  Musters  jumped  up  from  his  chair  in  a 
second.  He  went  close  to  Byron  and  looked  into 
his  face. 

"Is  it  f  "  he  said  in  a  whisper,  and  down  came 
the  curtain  with  a  startling  sweep  under  the  force 
of  the  sudden  wrench  given  to  it  by  Byron. 

Musters  took  a  step  or  two  back,  laughing 
curiously.  Then  he  turned  and  went  to  the  door 
by  which  he  had  entered. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Mr.  Musters,"  said  Byron 
in  a  low  voice.  "You  have  said  something  so 
strange— so  frightful " 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  cried  Musters  in  a  loud, 
irritated  tone.  "  Don't  be  a  fool.  I  took  you  for 
a  man  who  had  seen  the  world,  and  who  knew 
how  to  take  a  hint  when  offered  in  a  friendly 
spirit.  Hearken  to  this,  my  friend ;  I  'm  going  off 
with  Caroline  Lamb  and  't  is  unlikely  that  I  shall 
ever  see  my  wife  again.  She  does  n't  care  a  snap 
^of  her  fingers  for  me,  but  she  is  desperately  in  love 
with  you.  That 's  the  whole  case.  It  rests  with 
you  to — to — oh,  curse  it,  how  much  plainer  do 
you  look  for  a  man  to  be?  A  man  of  the  world? 
By  my  soul,  you  should  be  back  in  the  second 
form  at  Harrow.  Oh,  be  hanged  to  you  for  a 
ninny!" 

He  sprang  at  the  handle  of  the  door  and 
stamped  into  the  hall,  banging  the  door  behind 
him.  Byron  heard  his  voice  saying  a  word  or 


486  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

two  of  abuse  to  the  footman  as  he  left  the 
house. 

Byron  seated  himself  slowly  on  the  sofa.  He 
felt  curiously  dazed.  It  took  him  some  time  to 
recover  himself;  and  then  his  thought  framed 
itself  into  his  whisper : 

"  Thank  God  that  she  shall  never  know  the  man 
to  whom  she  is  married!" 

That  was  his  first  thought;  whatever  might 
happen  she  would  be  spared  the  supreme  humilia- 
tion which  was  the  import  of  her  husband's  words. 

He  heard  a  sound  down  the  room.  Mary  stood 
there. 

"Merciful  heaven!  you  —  surely  you  went 
through  the  door.  I  saw  you  go  into  the  other 
room,"  he  cried. 

"You  forgot  the  second  door,"  she  said.  "It 
is  locked.  I  was  compelled  to  stand  in  the  space 
-the  thickness  of  the  wall  between  the  two 
doors." 

"  But  you  did  not  hear — 

"  I  heard  everything — perhaps  not — but  enough 
— enough — more  than  enough." 

She  went  toward  him — unsteadily.  She  had  to 
catch  at  the  back  of  a  chair  once — the  edge  of  a 
table.  She  had  stretched  out  her  arms  toward 
him  like  a  child  learning  to  walk — she  would  have 
fallen  on  the  floor  if  he  had  not  rushed  forward 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"Byron,"  she  murmured  weakly,  "you  were 
right — I  was  wrong.  I  should  have  gone  to  you. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  487 

I  come  to  you  now,  if  you  will  take  me.     We 
shall  never  be  separated  now." 
"  My  dear  one !— my  Mary ! " 
His  arms  were  about  her.     There  was  silence 
save    for   the    sound   of   their   breathing— their 
mingled  breathing— the  duet  in  unison  in  which 
passion  alone  is  audible. 

She  separated  herself  from  him  in  a  moment, 
with  a  cry  of,  "The  children!  my  children!" 

"  They  shall  be  with  you  once  again,  dearest — 
they  shall  come  here,"  said  Byron.  "Into  their 
life  also  happiness  shall  enter." 

"  I  must  have  them  with  me  at  once — to-day," 
she  said. 

"Why  should  you  not?"  he  said.  "You  said 
they  were  only  so  far  away  as  Southwell.  We 
shall  drive  there  when  you  please.  Is  there  any 
need  to  be  precipitate,  considering — you  are 
afraid  that  perhaps,  when  he  finds  that  you  are 
no  longer  at  his  mercy,  he  may  try  to  keep  your 
children  from  you,  in  spite  of  the  words  which 
you  overheard  him  speak  in  this  room?" 

"I  am  afraid.  I  could  never  feel  safe  unless 
they  were  beside  me.  His  moods  change  from 
day  to  day — from  hour  to  hour." 

"But  he  hates  the  children  and  they  detest 
him,  although  you  have  tried  to  teach  them  that 
it  is  their  duty  to  love  him.  When  love  has  to  be 
taught  as  a  duty,  it  ceases  to  be  love." 

"Ah,  I  remember  days  when  he  seemed  to  love 
them.  He  has  played  with  them  for  hours— that 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord 


was  long  ago — oh,  it  seems  so  long  ago  that  I  can 
scarcely  think  now  that  I  ever  knew  such  a  time. 
I  shall  have  them  with  me  now  forever." 

"  None  shall  make  them  or  you  afraid,  my  be- 
loved one.  My  Mary,  let  this  be  my  first  service 
for  you.  We  shall  go  together  to  Southwell  and 
bring  them  back  with  us.  Why  pause  for  an 
hour?  I  shall  order  a  carriage  at  once." 

"Ah,  that  is  what  I  hoped — that  is  what  I 
longed  to  suggest.  You  understand  better  than 
anyone  what  is  in  my  heart,  dear  Byron.  With 
my  children  away  from  me  I  should  never  know 
an  hour's  happiness — an  hour's  security." 

"They  are  my  children,  Mary." 

She  was  in  his  arms  again. 

But  there  were  details  to  be  talked  over.  She 
must  go  away  with  him.  Of  course,  he  saw  that 
it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  take  up  her 
residence  at  Newstead.  What  would  her  friends 
do  when  they  met  her  out  driving  with  him  on  the 
roads?  It  would  be  intolerable  to  meet  her  old 
acquaintances  if  once  she  were  to  leave  Annesley. 
No  matter  how  deeply  everyone  might  sympathise 
with  her,  knowing  something  of  the  character  of 
her  husband,  she  would  none  the  less  be  shunned 
the  moment  that  she  forsook  her  home. 

But  they  did  not  discuss  for  a  moment  the  pos- 
sibility of  remaining  at  Newstead. 

"O  for  the  wings  of  a  dove!"  she  cried.  "The 
wings  of  a  dove  to  fly  away  and  be  at  rest!  I 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  489 

feel  that  that  is  what  I  long  for  most-rest-rest 

have  not  known  it  for  years.     I  feel  as  a  poor 

slave  must  feel  who  has  worn  his  shackles  riveted 

-soldered-on  to    his   limbs  for  years,  when  a 

day  comes  on  which  they  are  broken— severed 

from  his  life  forever.     Rest  — I  seem  to  want 

nothing  else  just  now." 

"  Poor  slave ! "  said  Byron.  "  Your  fetters  have 
been  heavy— their  iron  entered  your  soul.  How 
have  you  survived  the  galling  of  the  shackles? 
But  now  your  day  of  freedom  has  come  and  the 
sun  will  never  set  upon  it.  Dear  one,  when  I 
was  among  the  islands  of  the  coast  of  Greece  I 
thought  of  you  every  day.  They  are  the  love- 
liest that  are  to  be  found  in  any  sea.  They  can- 
not be  described  by  words." 
»  She  smiled. 

"  What,"  she  cried,  " '  Those  Edens  of  the  East- 
ern wave'?" 

"I  never  felt  the  poverty  of  my  rhymes  so 
strongly  as  when  I  had  made  an  attempt  to  de- 
scribe one  of  the  islands  of  Greece, ' '  said  he.    "  One 
would  need  a  pen  plucked  from  a  wing  of  a  bird 
of  paradise,  dipped  into  the  sea  of  sunset  hues,  to 
write  the  glories  of  the  least  of  them.     I  thought 
of  you  daily — nightly — when  new  islets  sprang 
from  the  waters  beside  us ;  and  my  one  thought 
was,  '  What  happiness  to  be  here  with  her — rest- 
ing here  with  her  forever!'     Dearest,  I  seemed  to 
see  the  embodiment  of  Rest  looking  out  from 
every  orange  grove — beckoning  from  every  myrtle 


49°  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

brake — standing  with  golden  sandals  on  the 
golden  sand  just  where  the  ripples  breaking 
whispered,  'Hush!'  Dearest,  that  figure  beckons 
to  us  now.  We  will  not  refuse  to  put  out  our 
hands  to  her,  greeting  her  with  loving  words. 
Rest?  Do  we  want  anything  better  in  the 
world?" 

"How  did  I  ever  resist  you  before?"  she  cried. 
"Ah,  what  a  picture  you  draw  for  me!  I  can 
hear  the  nightingales ;  I  can  taste  the  perfume  of 
the  orange  and  citron.  O  for  the  wings  of  a  dove ! ' ' 

When  they  came  back  to  earth — dropping  lei- 
surely down,  with  all  the  delicacy  of  a  sea  bird 
descending  to  rest  on  the  waters — they  agreed  that 
it  would  be  tempting  Fate  to  make  any  delay  in 
their  flight.  That  night,  he  pleaded;  but  she 
showed  him  that  that  would  be  impossible.  He 
did  not  want  her  to  leave  Newstead. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said.  "I  am  afraid  that 
something  will  happen  and  so  interfere  with  our 
plans.  I  have  had  experience  of  such  like  slips 
of  the  cup  from  the  lip.  It  looks  as  if  Heaven 
grudged  us  such  happiness  as  ours — will  be." 

" Do  not  say  'will  be,'  say  is — as  our  happiness 
is,"  she  cried.  "Ah,  do  not  doubt  me,  Byron. 
Do  not  fancy  that  I  shall  change  my  mind.  I 
shall  be  with  you  to-morrow  and  ever  afterwards. " 

He  let  her  go  reluctantly.  He  was  willing 
enough  to  trust  her;  but  he  had  a  great  distrust 
of  Fate.  He  had  had  his  confidence  in  Fate 
rudely  shaken  on  that  day  when  he  had  first  been 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  49i 

with  Mary  on  the  knoll,  and  she  had  pointed 
with  her  riding  whip  to  the  man  who  was  coming 
up  to  them,  saying : 

"That  is  the  man  whom  I  have  promised  to 
marry." 

He  had  never  quite  trusted  Fate  since  that  day. 
He  had  always  found  it  better  to  be  a  little  ahead 
of  Fate,  so  to  speak— to  insist  on  cash  payments, 
as  it  were,  and  no  running  up  of  bills  which  might 
never  be  met. 

But  she  had  gone ;  he  had  found  it  impossible 
to  keep  her.  He  would  have  liked  to  order 
horses  to  be  put  into  a  carriage  and  galloped  off 
with  her  to  his  "  Eden  of  the  Eastern  wave  "  in 
hot  blood  both  of  them;  but  the  islands  of  his 
archipelago  were  far;  and  even  to  reach  London 
required  a  score  of  horses. 

He,  too,  began  to  long  for  the  wings  of  a  dove- 
He  had  a  good  many  orders  to  give  to  his  man. 
At  first  he  would  not  encumber  himself  with 
much  luggage;  a  few  portmanteaus  would  be 
sufficient;  the  remainder  would  have  to  be  sent 
after  him  to  London.  He  would  be  in  London  for 
at  least  a  week.  He  hoped  to  hear  from  his 
solicitor  that  the  sale  of  Newstead  had  been  car- 
ried through.  If  so,  he  would  indeed  be  free. 

When  he  had  perfected  his  arrangements,  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  await  the  morrow  and 
all  that  it  would  bring  to  him. 

He  could  only  look  forward  to  happiness.     He 


49 2  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

had  no  misgiving  that  would  come  to  lay  a  chill 
finger  upon  his  warm  anticipations.  He  had  no 
thought  except  of  satisfaction  at  the  result  of  the 
incidents  of  the  day.  His  conscience,  so  far  from 
reproaching  him,  gave  him  lavish  commendation. 
He  was  rescuing  a  good  woman  from  the  intoler- 
able thraldom  of  a  brutal  husband.  He  was  con- 
ferring happiness  upon  her  in  place  of  the  horrible 
torture  to  which  she  had  been  subjected.  He 
knew  what  it  must  have  been  for  her  to  live  with 
such  a  man — a  man  who  could  make  in  cold  blood 
the  proposal  that  had  come  from  him.  And  what 
must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  wife  who  over- 
heard her  husband  make  such  a  suggestion  to 
another  man? 

Byron  had  ample  knowledge  of  the  effect  that 
overhearing  those  words  had  upon  her;  but  he 
felt  in  his  heart  that  he  would  be  ready  to  forego 
all  the  advantages  that  the  incident  brought  to 
himself  if  he  could  have  spared  her  the  horrible 
insult. 

But  she  had  heard  and  suffered  in  silence,  and 
he,  Byron,  was  to  spend  his  life  in  the  endeavour 
to  wipe  from  her  memory  those  words  which  she 
had  overheard  her  husband  speak.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  that.  He  felt  that  his  life  would 
be  well  spent  if  he  succeeded  in  achieving  so  much. 

With  the  coming  of  night  there  came  to  him 
the  thoughts  that  come  only  with  night.  He 
went,  as  usual,  out  of  doors  and  on  to  his  favour- 
ite stone  bench  on  the  bank  above  the  fish-pond. 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  493 

It  was  almost  midnight,  and  the  majestic  tran- 
quillity of  a  summer  moon  within  a  day  or  two 
of  being  full  overhung  the  world.  It  was  inspir- 
ing—strengthening. He  breathed  of  the  moon- 
light and  its  spirit  entered  his  spirit,  bringing 
with  it  all  the  stately  influence  of  the  night.  The 
living  silences  of  nature  around  him  conveyed 
their  ennobling  impression  to  him;  and  he  sat 
there  thinking  what  their  life  should  be  when  they 
came  together.  Poetry — they  would  be  living 
poetry — breathing  of  it — drinking  of  it  such  deep 
and  glorious  draughts  as  he  was  drinking  of  the 
moonlight. 

But  he  would  show  the  world  that  all  the  poetry 
which  he  had  yet  written  was  but  the  uncertain 
prattling  of  a  child  compared  to  what  he  could  do. 
The  world  would  be  rilled  with  the  fame  of  his 
poetry  as  the  world  was  filled  with  the  moon- 
light. And  it  would  all  be  noble.  He  had  writ- 
ten some  ignoble  lines  in  the  past ;  but  he  would 
never  write  any  in  the  future.  How  could  he 
have  an  ignoble  thought  with  her  beside  him? 
He  would  put  his  pen  into  her  hand  and  bid  her 
draw  it  across  every  line,  every  word  that  did 
not  tend  to  give  help  and  strength  to  the  heart 
of  men.  He  saw  now  clearly  of  what  a  power  in 
the  world  he  was  master.  Once  or  twice  he  knew 
that  he  had  blown  the  true  note  through  the 
trumpet  that  had  been  set  to  his  lips;  in  the 
future  it  would  not  be  merely  a  solitary  note  of 
truth  that  would  come  from  him :  he  would  ring 


494  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

out  a  strain  so  true,  so  majestic,  that  all  the 
sleeping  world  would  wake  and  listen. 

He  sat  there  in  the  influence  of  the  moonlight 
until  midnight  was  long  past.  He  leaned  his  head 
upon  his  hand,  looking  into  the  broad  water  at 
his  feet.  The  moon  was  not  high  enough  in  the 
sky  to  cast  her  silver  shield  on  the  surface  of  that 
mirror  so  that  he  could  see  it  from  where  he  sat ; 
but  the  moonlight  that  saturated  the  air  was 
spread  like  a  film  of  satin  gauze  over  the  var- 
nished leaves  of  the  water-lilies,  and  every  tree 
on  the  bank  was  inverted  in  the  water.  He  could 
count  their  leaves. 

While  he  sat  there  dreamily  gazing,  he  became 
aware  of  a  moving  reflection  among  all  the  mo- 
tionless pictures  in  the  water.  It  slipped  from 
tree  to  tree — something  whiter  than  the  moon- 
light—a figure;  he  saw  it  clearly  one  moment 
where  the  trees  were  more  straggling.  He  raised 
his  eyes  quickly  to  the  trees  themselves,  and  he 
fancied  that  he  saw  a  movement  of  something 
white  among  the  long  shadows  on  the  grass.  In 
another  moment  it  had  come  out  from  the  trees 
and  appeared  in  the  full  moonlight. 

For  the  second  time  since  morning  his  heart 
cried  out : 

"She  is  here — she  is  here — she  has  come  back  to 
me!" 

He  knew  that  it  was  she  who  was  approaching, 
crossing  the  grass,  the  moonlight  weaving  its  films 
of  silver  with  the  white  of  her  dress,  making  it 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  495 

luminous — exquisitely  transparent,  like  the  gar- 
ment of  a  ghost. 

He  rose  and  waved  his  hand  to  her.  Her  face 
was  turned  directly  toward  him  and  he  thought 
that  she  could  not  fail  to  notice  him.  Still  she 
moved  along  the  grass,  making  no  sign  of  having 
seen  him.  He  was  surprised;  she  was  still  ap- 
proaching him  and  he  waved  to  her  again.  Look- 
ing straight  in  front  of  her  he  felt  that  she  could 
not  avoid  seeing  him,  but  her  arms  remained  by 
her  sides.  She  made  no  response  to  his  signal. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  come  close  to  where 
he  stood  that  he  became  aware  of  the  truth.  She 
was  in  the  oblivious  condition  in  which  he  had 
once  before  seen  her — she  was  asleep.  She  wore 
a  loose  dressing-robe  of  white,  loose  at  the  throat, 
exposing  part  of  her  neck  and  shoulders;  over 
which  her  hair  streamed  almost  down  to  her 
waist,  the  moonlight  burnishing  its  gold  until  it 
glowed  like  a  flame.  Her  robe  was  unfastened 
at  the  lower  part  so  that  every  step  exposed  her 
feet  and  ankles,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  wearing 
slippers.  It  was  plain  that  she  had  not  risen 
from  her  bed  under  the  influence  of  her  somnam- 
bulism; she  had  been  sitting  up  in  a  chair  with 
her  dressing-robe  around  her,  and  thus  she  had 
gone  forth  into  the  moonlight. 

She  slipped  past  him  and  her  garment  almost 
brushed  his  knees.     He  could  not  awake  her. 
allowed  her  to  pass  him,  and  he  followed  her  at 
short  distance.     She  walked  straight  to  the  hall 


496  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

door — it  was  open  as  he  had  left  it  when  he  had 
come  out — and  when  she  entered  the  porch  he 
was  only  a  yard  or  two  behind  her.  A  light  had 
by  his  instructions  been  left  burning  in  the  hall 
before  the  servants  had  gone  to  bed ;  by  its  light 
he  saw  her  go  up  the  staircase  to  the  first  lobby. 
She  stood  there  for  a  short  time,  the  moonlight 
streaming  through  the  painted  glass  of  the  coat 
of  arms  on  the  high  window,  making  chains  of 
shadowy  rubies  and  emeralds  and  sapphires,  which 
it  flung  upon  her  neck  and  over  her  shoulders 
while  she  paused  for  a  few  moments.  He  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  watching  her,  and  he  was 
more  amazed  than  ever  when  he  saw  her  turn 
and  go  up  the  short  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the 
room  where  her  grandfather  had  died  by  the  hand 
of  the  fifth  Lord  Byron.  He  recollected  that  he 
had  told  her  casually  of  how  he  had  visited 
this  room,  but  he  had  certainly  not  told  her 
where  that  room  was  situated  or  how  it  was 
approached. 

But  he  saw  her  open  the  door  and  pass  through 
into  the  darkness.  He  hurried  up  the  stairs  to 
the  lobby,  but  he  was  too  fearful  of  the  conse- 
quences of  awaking  her  suddenly  to  venture  upon 
the  steps  to  the  room;  he  was  clumsy  upon  his 
feet,  and  there  were  no  banisters  along  these  steps. 
He  could  only  stand  at  the  foot  and  listen.  He 
did  so,  breathlessly. 

She  entered  and  he  heard  her  speaking  in  a 
low  voice — just  as  she  had  spoken  long  ago  when 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  497 

standing  opposite  the  picture  in  the  hall  at  Annes- 
ley.  Her  voice  was  so  low  that  he  could  not  hear 
a  sentence  that  came  from  her.  It  sounded  like 
a  prayer.  It  was  as  if  she  had  met  someone  in 
that  room  face  to  face  and  was  imploring  him  in 
an  earnest  whisper  to  grant  a  petition  that  she 
offered  to  him.  Scarcely  a  word  could  he  hear 
distinctly,  but  he  remembered  all  that  he  had 
overheard  her  say  when  opposite  the  picture  of 
the  man  who  had  been  killed  in  that  room ;  and 
he  wondered  if  she  was  making  a  petition  to  the 
man  by  whom  he  had  been  killed. 

Before  many  minutes  had  passed  she  reap- 
peared at  the  door,  descended  the  stairs,  and  went 
forth  once  more  into  the  moonlight.  He  followed 
her  at  a  distance,  across  the  grass  and  among  the 
trees  of  the  park.  He  had  never  left  Newstead 
by  the  way  she  was  now  taking,  but  it  appeared 
that  she  was  well  acquainted  with  its  course,  for 
she  walked  quickly  along  without  stopping  to 
consider  what  turn  to  take  at  any  time;  and  he 
found  that  it  was  quite  a  short  way  to  Annesley 
by  this  route.  He  followed  her  up  to  the  very 
door  of  the  house  and  watched  her  enter  and 
close  the  door. 

He  returned  slowly  to  Newstead,  more  aston- 
ished than  he  had  ever  been  since  that  night  when 
he  had  seen  her  walking  in  her  sleep  on  the  stair- 
case at  Annesley.  He  could  not  understand  how 
it  was  possible  for  her  to  go  all  the  way  through 
the  park  without  waking— how  it  was  possible  for 


498  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

her  to  go  directly  to  that  room,  although  no  one 
except  himself  had  visited  it  for  years. 

He  had  not  succeeded  in  seeing  any  further  into 
the  mystery  by  the  time  he  reached  Newstead 
and  passed  through  the  open  door  and  on  to  his 
bedroom. 

She  came  to  him  shortly  after  noon.  She 
looked  neither  tired  nor  sleepless.  He  gazed  into 
her  face,  but  failed  to  see  on  its  features  any 
trace  of  weariness.  Her  eyes  were  bright.  She 
seemed  almost  exultant.  He  thought  of  what  she 
had  said  about  the  slave  and  his  shackles. 

"Mine — mine — my  own  at  last!"  he  whispered 
while  he  took  her  to  his  arms.  "Is  there  any- 
thing that  can  part  us  now,  my  beloved?  I  con- 
fess that  when  you  left  me  yesterday  I  felt 
doubtful.  I  told  you  that  I  mistrusted  Fate; 
but  now " 

"  If  the  children  are  once  with  us  I  shall  have 
no  misgiving,"  said  she. 

"They  will  be  with  us  in  a  couple  of  hours," 
said  he. 

And  then,  while  the  carriage  was  being  made 
ready,  they  talked  over  their  arrangements  for 
their  flight.  They  would  stay  in  London  for  a 
week  or  two  until  their  preparations  for  the  long 
journey  to  the  East  were  complete.  Then  they 
would  leave  England  until  Mr.  Musters  obtained 
the  divorce  which  he  was  almost  certain  to  apply 
for.  Byron  in  his  own  mind  ridiculed  the  notion 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  499 

of  Lady  Caroline  throwing  herself  away  upon  such 
a  man  as  Musters.  He  felt  certain  that  a  woman 
who  had  shown  herself  to  be  ambitious  almost 
to  a  point  of  madness,  would  only  laugh  when 
Musters  assumed  that  she  was  greatly  in  earnest. 
She  was  fooling  the  man  just  as  she  had  fooled 
other  men. 

He  did  not,  however,  think  it  necessary  to  ex- 
press his  views  on  this  point  to  Mary.  He  talked 
to  her  about  her  children  until  the  carriage  which 
was  to  bring  them  from  Southwell  was  at  the  door. 
They  both  seemed  to  feel  the  exhilarating  in- 
fluence of  the  drive  along  the  road  to  the  village. 
He  held  her  hand  while  they  talked  madly  of  the 
birds,  the  wildflowers,  the  scents  of  the  orchards, 
the  glory  and  gladness  of  the  meadows.  It  was 
not  merely  exhilaration  that  they  experienced — 
it  was  intoxication.  Everything  in  the  world 
seemed  made  for  lovers  this  day,  and  they  felt 
that  there  had  never  been  lovers  in  the  world 
before  this  day. 

They  laughed  at  the  awkward  courtships  of  the 
rustics  sitting  under  the  hedges  of  the  hay  fields 
after  their  midday  meals;  they  laughed  at  the 
love-making  quarrels  of  the  birds  in  the  straggling 
boughs  that  overhung  the  road ;  they  laughed  at 
the  youth  in  the  market  cart  who  sat  with  his  arm 
about  the  waist  of  the  young  woman  on  the 
uneasy  seat  by  his  side— it  seemed  to  be  good  to 
laugh  in  such  a  world— it  seemed  that  the  whole 
world  was  made  for  laughter. 


500  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

A  couple  of  miles  on  their  way  they  met  a 
great  wain  of  hay  pausing  by  the  roadside.  It 
had  been  badly  packed  and  one  of  the  ropes 
meant  to  secure  the  load  had  slackened,  so  that 
a  hundredweight  of  the  load  had  escaped.  Byron 
asked  the  men  if  they  needed  another  hand  to  help 
them.  They  touched  their  hats  and  said  they 
had  made  the  load  secure.  A  couple  of  miles 
farther  on  still  they  saw  in  the  distance  another 
breakdown. 

"It  is  blocking  up  the  whole  road;  we  shall 
have  difficulty  passing  it,"  said  Byron,  looking 
ahead,  leaning  over  the  carriage. 

"There  is  quite  a  crowd — that  is  what  makes 
the  road  seem  impassable,"  said  Mary,  looking  out 
at  the  other  side. 

"  There 's  a  horse  down  and — the  fields  must  be 
left  without  labourers ;  they  all  seem  to  be  crowd- 
ing around  the  vehicle,"  said  Byron. 

As  they  got  closer  to  the  scene,  he  cried  out: 

"Good  heavens!  I  recognise  the  queer  shape 
of  that  new  machine  that  Vince  got  built  for  him- 
self. There  are  no  other  shafts  like  those  in  the 
county;  and  his  horse  showed  temper  the  first 
time  he  was  put  between  them.  Vince  was  un- 
certain; he  would  not  let  me  ride  with  him.  I 
hope  he  is  not  killed." 

"Some  one  is  lying  on  the  side  of  the  bank," 
said  Mary.  "  That  is  the  doctor's  phaeton ;  he  is 
—oh,  Byron — Byron,  something  has  happened — 
something  dreadful!  O  my  God!  'tis  my  hus- 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  501 

band— he  is  killed!  he  is  killed!— look  at  his  face! 
Death— death!" 

The  crowd  that  occupied  the  full  breadth  of  the 
road  parted  as  the  carriage  drove  up.  Byron  took 
in  the  personnel  of  the  group  beside  the  doctor. 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb  stood  there,  pale  and  dishev- 
elled, holding  a  smelling-bottle  to  her  nose ;  at  a 
little  distance  Vince  stood  in  his  shirt  sleeves. 
One  of  his  arms  was  bandaged.  On  the  side  of 
the  bank  lay  Mr.  Musters,  his  face  looking  amaz- 
ing in  its  whiteness — there  was  something  awful 
about  the  pallor  of  the  face  that  had  never  been 
seen  otherwise  than  rubicund.  It  was  like  a  fool- 
ish caricature  of  the  face  of  Mr.  Musters;  the 
caricaturist  had  been  grimly  ironical,  and  had 
made  it  white  as  marble. 

But  what  was  most  horrible  about  it  was  the 
stare  that  was  in  the  eyes.  The  eyes  were  open 
and  there  was  a  curious  fixity  in  their  stare.  His 
mouth  was  twisted,  showing  some  of  his  teeth. 

She  was  kneeling  beside  him  in  a  moment. 
Byron  turned  away.  He  could  not  bear  to  see 
her  beside  him  again,  even  though  the  man  was 
dead. 

He  looked  around  for  an  explanation  of  the 
accident.  The  open  chaise  that  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  with  half  the  hood  and  one  of 
the  panels  torn  away,  was  Musters 's,  and  the 
vehicle  with  the  long  shafts — one  of  them  smashed 
—was  the  one  which  Vince  had  had  built  for  him- 
self. He  knew  so  much,  but  no  more.  An  accident 


502  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

had  happened,  but  he  could  not  even  hazard  a 
guess  as  to  its  nature  or  origin.  There  was  Lady 
Caroline  standing  apart  from  everyone  with  her 
smelling-bottle.  How  did  she  come  to  be  in  the 
accident  ?  If  she  had  been  driving  in  the  chaise 
with  Mr.  Musters,  how  was  it  that  she  had  es- 
caped unhurt? 

And  Vince — how  was  it  that  Vince  had  his  arm 
bandaged?" 

Lady  Caroline  came  quickly  toward  him  with 
uplifted  hands  and  a  pallid  face. 

He  crossed  the  road  to  Vince. 

"It  is  very  sad — very  sad;  he  is  not  dead," 
said  Vince. 

"Do  one's  eyes  stare  like  his  if  one  is  not 
dead?"  said  Byron.  "How  did  it  happen?" 

"  He  is  not  dead — I  shall  never  forgive  myself ; 
it  was  my  fault,"  said  Vince.  "My  horse  in  the 
new  machine  bolted  with  me.  We  ran  down  the 
chaise  with  Lady  Caroline  and  Mr.  Musters  on 
the  back  seat.  The  brute — I  allude  to  the  horse 
— fairly  charged  the  chaise  with  those  two  long 
shafts  like  lances ;  one  of  them  went  through  the 
leather  of  the  hood  and  struck  the  man  on  the 
spine.  That  is  how  he  comes  to  be  lying  there 
speechless  and  with  staring  eyes :  he  is  paralysed, 
the  doctor  told  us.  We  sent  one  of  the  men  for 
the  doctor.  He  is  an  intelligent  man — the  in- 
telligence of  a  physician  is  not  always  intelligible. 
He  examined  Mr.  Musters  and  says  that  he  may 
live — that  is,  be  kept  alive — for  a  number  of  years, 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  503 

but  he  will  never  have  the  use  of  his  legs— he  may 
never  be  able  to  speak  again.  He  may  get  into 
the  way  of  cursing  with  his  eyes.  He  is  a  man 
of  resource." 

"  You  are  a  callous  wretch,  and  if  you  are  never 
able  to  use  your  arm  again  you  will  only  have 
got  part  of  your  deserts,"  said  Byron.  "Is  your 
arm  broken?" 

"No.  I  saved  it  by  knocking  the  coachman 
off  the  box,"  said  Vince.  "You  are  right,  my 
lord;  no  punishment  could  be  adequate  to  what 
I  deserve.  I  am  a  melancholy  bungler." 

He  turned  away  from  the  man  without  another 
word,  and  watched  Mary  still  kneeling  by  the 
side  of  the  man  who  had  made  her  life  one  of 
perpetual  bitterness  for  her,  and  there  lay  the 
husband  with  that  horrible  stare  of  the  living- 
dead  in  his  eyes. 

The  doctor  was  now  leaning  over  her  speaking 
in  her  ear.  She  raised  her  head  and  apparently 
answered  his  question.  The  doctor  hastened  to 
Byron. 

"Mrs.  Musters  tells  me  that  the  carriage  is 
yours,  my  lord,"  he  said.  "We  need  such  a  con- 
veyance to  carry  Mr.  Musters  home,  and  beg 
leave  of  your  lordship — 

"Make  use  of  it  by  all  means,"  said  Byron. 
"He  is  paralysed,  I  hear,  but  he  will  live." 

"  Sensation  has  gone  from  one  side  and  all  the 
lower  part  of  his  body:  the  shaft  just  missed 
killing  him  by  half  an  inch,"  said  the  doctor. 


504  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

"So  that  he  will  continue  within  half  an  inch 
of  death  so  long  as  he  breathes,"  said  Byron. 

"Your  lordship  puts  it  very  neatly,"  said  the 
doctor,  with  genuine  appreciation  of  an  apt  defini- 
tion. "  Half  an  inch  off  death  all  his  life — excel- 
lent. But  if  Lord  Byron,  our  greatest  master  of 
language,  failed,  where  should  we  look — Oh,  Mrs. 
Musters,  his  lordship  has  had  the  kindness  to  place 
his  carriage  at  the  disposal  of  our  unfortunate 
sufferer.  We  shall  lose  no  time — thank  you,  my 
lord." 

He  went  off,  leaving  Mary  by  the  side  of  Byron. 
She  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  It  was  not  to  be,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

" No ;  it  was  not  to  be — now;  but " 

"  Dear  Byron — my  own  true  love,  you  will  have 
to  bear  the  blow  that  has  fallen  on  us  both,"  said 
she.  "  It  will  be  hard  for  you." 

"But  for  you,  Mary?" 

"  It  will  not  be  so  hard  for  me.  I  have  been  so 
made  the  sport  of  Fate  that  another  buffet  is  of 
no  account.  I  thought  that  at  last — at  last — 
some  happiness  was  to  come  into  my  life ;  but  it 
was  not  to  be.  Good-bye,  my  dear  love.  When 
I  say  good-bye  to  you  I  have  said  farewell  to 
happiness  for  ever." 

"  For  ever?  What  do  you  mean?  You  cannot 
mean  that  it  is  your  intention  to  give  up  the  rest 
of  your  life  to  him — to  be  his  nurse — attendant 
to  a  man  who  is  more  than  half  dead?" 

"Let  us  walk  up  the  road — away  from  these 


Love  Alone  Is  Lord  505 

people,"  she  said,  and  they  went  on  side  by  side 
a  short  way. 

"Dear  Byron,"  she  said — her  voice  shook,  the 
tears  were  overflowing  her  eyes.  "Dear  Byron, 
think  of  it  all,  and  you  will  see  as  clearly  as  I  do 
that  no  choice  is  left  for  me  in  this  matter.  I 
must  stay  by  my  poor  husband  now,  so  long  as  I 
live — so  long  as  he  lives.  What  would  you  think 
of  a  woman  who  would  leave  her  husband  after  so 
terrible  a  thing  had  happened  to  him?  Do  you 
fancy  that  you  would  ever  be  happy  with  such  a 
woman  as  that?  I  know  what  would  be  on  your 
mind  every  time  you  saw  me,  and  I  should  be 
worthy  only  of  the  contempt  in  which  you  would 
hold  me." 

"But  with  him— with  him!"  he  cried.  "Oh, 
my  love,  your  life  will  be  like  his — more  than  half 
death — more  than  half  death!" 

"  It  will  be  my  life — the  lot  that  it  is  the  will  of 
Heaven  for  me  to  bear.  I  bow  my  head  to  the 
cross  that  Heaven  tells  me  I  must  bear.  Perhaps 
it  is  my  punishment  for  my  presumption  in  as- 
suming that  I  knew  in  what  direction  my  happi- 
ness lay.  Dear  Byron,  I  feel  that  I  am  saying 
good-bye  to  you  on  the  brink  of  the  grave.  So 
long  as  I  live  I  shall  not  cease  to  think  of  you 
and  to  pray  for  you  out  of  the  darkness  of  my 
living  grave.  Good-bye — good-bye. 

He  did  not  say  a  word.  He  bowed  his  head 
down  to  her  hand.  He  kissed  it  and  left  it  wet 
with  his  tears. 


506  Love  Alone  Is  Lord 

The  doctor  beckoned  to  her  from  the  carriage. 
She  walked  without  faltering  to  the  vehicle  across 
the  cushions  of  which  her  husband  lay.  The  sig- 
nal was  given  and  the  horses  began  to  move. 

She  never  looked  back. 

One  by  one  the  people  of  the  little  crowd  that 
had  been  about  the  carriage  melted  away;  but 
Byron  remained  standing  where  Mary  had  left 
him.  He  watched  the  carriage  pass  away  into 
the  distance  slowly  as  if  it  were  a  coach  of  the 
dead. 

He  stood  there  on  the  empty,  silent  road  until 
there  was  nothing  of  it  to  be  seen.  He  knew  that 
with  it  his  hope  of  happiness  had  disappeared 
forever. 


A  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete   Catalogues  sent 
on  application 


A  Stirring  and  Captivating  Story 

THE  GIRL  OF 
LA  GLORIA 

By 
CLARA  DRISCOLL 

With  Illustrations  in  Color  by 
HUGH  DITZLER 

I2mo.     $1.50 

A  charming  love-story  of  Texas.  The  heroine, 
Ilaria,  is  the  last  of  an  old  Mexican  family,  who 
have  gradually  been  dispossessed  of  all  their 
lands  by  the  grasping  Americanos.  A  young 
man  from  New  York  falls  in  love  with  this  beau- 
tiful descendant  of  the  early  Spanish  conquerors. 
There  are  fascinating  descriptions  of  the  rough, 
romantic  life  of  the  plains,  when  men  were  quick 
with  their  love  and  quicker  with  their  hate. 
The  story  moves  rapidly,  with  strong,  thrilling 
scenes,  and  the  reader's  interest  is  held  to  the 
dramatic  close.  ' 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


The   Jessica    Letters 

An  Editor's  Romance 


By  Paul  E.  More 

and 

Mrs.  Lundy  Howard  Harris 

Crown  octavo.      Net,  $1.10.      (By  mail,  $1.25.) 

The  correspondence  between  a  young  New  York 
Editor  and  a  young  Southern  woman.  The  book 
is  above  all  a  love  story.  The  letters  are  full  of 
wit  and  refreshing  frankness.  The  situations  are 
delightfully  romantic,  and  the  work  contains  some 
of  the  prettiest  love-making  that  has  appeared  for 
years. 

"It  is  altogether  a  charming  book.  Beautifully  printed, 
bound  in  a  dainty  apple-blossom  cover,  and  written  in  a  clean- 
cut,  forceful  style.  Jessica's  letters  are  bright,  witty,  and 
delicately  poetic.  They  introduce  to  the  reader  a  mind  of 
rare  charm,  originality,  and  independence." 

Rev.  THOMAS  DIXON,  Jr. 

"  There  can  be  but  praise  for  the  delicate  literary  quality 
revealed  on  every  page  of  this  story.  It  is  indeed  refreshing 
to  find  a  love  story  so  charmingly  told  as  this." 

Newark  News. 

"  A  love  story  told  in  letters,  letters  which  show  how  simple 
it  is  to  find  even  under  the  very  nose  of  the  blue  pencil  both 
love  and  high  thinking." — N.  Y.  Times. 

"It  is  delicate,  sincere,  and  earnest.  ...  A  whole- 
someness  and  sweetness  permeates  all  the  book." 

Chicago  Tribune. 

"  A  delightfully  romantic  love  story." — The  Outlook. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  London 


EMMA   EAMES  writes; 

"BtUhambtr  is  not  only  one  of  the  strongest  books  I  hire 
read  in  years,  bat  is  so  beautifully  written.  It  made  an 
amazing  impression  on  me  and  haunted  me  for  days.  One  of 
the  ladies  of  London  society  told  me  she  considered  it  a  mar- 
vellously  true  picture  of  a  certain  set." 


BELCHAMBER 


By  HOWARD  OVERING  STURGIS 

Author  of  "  All  That  Was  Possible,"  etc. 
12mo  $1.50 

A  TRUTHFUL  and  particularly  engaging  novel  of  very 
fashionable  English  society.  There  is  a  picturesque  and 
attractive  background  to  the  story  in  the  fine  old  country  estate 
and  luxurious  town  house  of  the  Marquis  of  Belchamber,  The 
people  of  the  book  are  real  personalities ;  and  in  striking  con- 
trast to  the  mere  action  and  incident  of  present-day  fiction,  they 
change  and  develop  among  the  influences  and  circumstances 
which  surround  them.  Belchamber  is  essentially  a  novel  of 
character,  giving  with  delicate  perception  and  psychological 
force  the  varying  attitudes  towards  life  of  different  natures. 
Here  is  "  Sainty,"  the  frail  and  shy  boy  who  becomes  Marquis 
of  Belchamber;  his  stern  Scotch  mother;  Lord  Arthur,  the  hand- 
come,  lovable,  spendthrift  younger  brother  ;  and  all  the  others, 
gay  and  sad,  who  together  make  a  veritable  new  Vanity  Fair. 


HEW  TORK-G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS-LOMOOU 


A  SELF-MADE 
MAN'S  WIFE 

Her  Letters  to  Her  Son 

Being  the  Woman's  View  of  Certain  Famous 
Correspondence 

ar 
CHARLES  EUSTACE  MERRIMAN 

Author  of  "  Letters  from  a  Son  to  his 
Self-Made  Father  " 

Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Richards 


12°.       $1.50 

This  book  introduces  another  member  of  the  well- 
known  Graham  family  of  Chicago.  The  self-made 
man's  wife  turns  out  to  have  been  an  amusing,  lovable 
old  lady  with  a  very  neat  wit  and  a  substantial  fund  of 
old-fashioned  common  sense.  Her  letters  to  her  son 
show  how  she  brought  him  up  in  the  way  he  should  go, 
and  one  also  gathers  that  she  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  the  bringing-up  of  the  old  self-made  merchant 
himself. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

New  "YorK  London 


Commencement  Exercises  of  General 
Hospital    Training    School. 


rrh«'  Buffalo  General  Hospital  Training 
School  for  Nurses  presented  diplomas 
last  fvening-  to  Its  graduating  class, 
many  friends  enjoying  the  delightful 
programme,  which  began  at  8  o'clock  in 
the  gymnasium  of  the  nurses'  home. 
Songs  by  a  double  quartette,  an  address 
by  Piesident  Charles  W.  Pardee  of  the 
hoard  of  trustees,  an  address  by  Mr. 
John  N.  Sratcherd  and  the  presentation 
by  Mr.  Pardee  of  Miss  Maxwell,  one 
of  the  pioneers  in  nursing  and  superin- 
tendent of  the  Presbyterian  Hospital  of 
11  New  York,  preceded  the  awarding  of 
a  I  diplomas  and  badges  by  Dr.  Lucien 
Howe. 

The  following  are  members  of  the 
graduating  class:  Mary  Gertrude  Vars, 
Mary  Emetta  Fowler,  Caroline  E.  Ben- 
nett. Josephine  R.  Stephens.  Marion  Re- 
becca Mahon,  Clara  Ruth  Stebbins, 
Lawrio  1^.  Phillips,  Elizabeth  Jane  Vr- 
Coy.  Mina  Ross,  Mary  Elizabeth  Qua, 
Anna  T.  Hoolt-y.  Florence  Marie  Taft, 
Francos  Mabe!  Evans.  Margaret  Jane 
Butters,  Mina  Kellogg. 

The  Reverend  William  H.  Boooock 
pronounced  the  benediction. 

After  the  programme  there  was 
eeption    in    the    nurses'    cottage,    which 
ittraotively   decorated   with   palms 
and    many    (lowers,    with  light? 

and  Japanese  lanterns  shining  from  the 
beautiful   lawn  in   front.     Refreshments 
1  in  the  red  parlor  and  there 
was  dancing. 


Dresse 

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of  waists  and  1 
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These  are  made 
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Some  are  strictly*-, 
fectively  designed! • 
terial.  They  werei. 
now  offered  at  $4. 

Splendidl; 

Made  of  superio 
Kami  L,inen.  The  i 
and  plaited  skirt.  "* 
style  and  quality  ay 


Who  Wouldn't  Paj 

Those  who  have  visited  ilie  s 
really  astonished  at  the  beautiful 
prices.  The  house  dr  $1.5 

95c  will  prove   invsist  ibii 
nesdnv  Avill  find  their  visit  a   nio- 


Extended     Off< 


10 

A     000126844    0 


